Dumpster #4: I Don't See How That's a Party

[trashmod]

Okay, kids, you know the drill. Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because hydratrashmeme is about as far from a safe space as you can get. Garbage we like: noncon, whump, aftermath, violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves. Garbage you should find a different trashcan for: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, OOC evil!good guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves, rotting leftovers dressed up as a romantic gourmet meal. Nothing wrong with 'em, but this isn't the crowd you should be pitching to if you're trying to sell Brock Rumlow as anything but a human dumpster fire.

Link your fills on the fill post, post unprompted fills as replies to a header comment so the wall o' text is collapsible, and let me know if you're interested in helping out with the Pinboard archive.

[Rules in full] [Round 1] [Round 2] [Round 3] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by greenkirtle)] [Round 4 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

All prompts or fills that contain Infinity War spoilers must go on the Infinity War spoiler post until May 26th. Spoilers in the main dumpsters will be deleted.

Round 4 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 5.

Comments

FILL part 2/? Re: Identity Porn in captivity

[(Anonymous)]

The mission was canceled. The Soldier didn’t ask questions, and he definitely didn’t look forward to missions, but he wasn’t sure when he’d last seen daylight or breathed air that wasn’t recycled through a ventilation system. He didn’t know how long it would be until the next time he’d get to be outside.

They had a new mission for him instead.

Your new target, they said, will not cooperate easily. He must be led without knowing he is being led. He is suspicious and clever, alert to the possibility of deception, expecting trickery. You are our only hope of breaking this man down, learning his secrets, and saving us from him.

They led him back to the room from the night before. He had spent hours in there doing his work. He didn’t know what the parameters were that would satisfy their goals, but it seemed to stretch on indefinitely, just him and the bound, suffering man, predator and prey performing in silence. He’d been forced to get a little creative, something he tried to avoid unless necessary.

You must be his confidant. He must grow to trust you. You can be docile, yes? Imagine the secrets a man tells to his dog but not his wife.

He blinked hard. “My arm. He’ll recognize it.” Maybe he hadn’t seen it, but it would be obvious that this was the implement that had tormented him. One of them. Dread pooled low in the Soldier’s belly, familiar but something he hadn’t felt in some time; like a breath he’d been holding so long he’d forgotten how, until he exhaled. He didn’t think they would remove his arm just for this, but the possibility nauseated him.

We’ve thought of that. Here, you must understand, this mission is of the utmost importance. You want to defeat the enemy, yes? You will cooperate. Hold out your arms.

It took some doing to squeeze the Soldier’s metal arm into the sleeve of the straight jacket. When they’d finished cinching it, his hands were both hidden and his shoulders both covered. It was a standard jacket, not meant for him; a simple flex would tear it at the seams. It was barely a hindrance.

Maybe he will have sympathy for you this way. Don’t be fooled. This is the enemy, and he must be crushed. Get what you can. You will give your full report and then you will have your meal. Good luck.

He allowed himself to be tripped as he entered the room, rolling into the fall so he would land on his side and not his face, careful not to let his metal arm thud into the floor and instead his flesh shoulder. The impact stole his breath for a few moments. The door closed heavily behind him, harder than the last time.

He took a moment to get into character, curled on his side facing the door, focusing on the throb of his shoulder in a way that he normally couldn’t afford to do with pain. They wanted his judgement of this subject, so they hadn’t told him much about him. There might be more information to come later, but for now he had to try to have a normal conversation in an abnormal situation between two very not normal people while pretending to be, well, normal. Just another prisoner, in the same boat.

The Soldier tried not to feel, generally, or at least to tamp down on the difficult feelings and not dwell in them, be consumed and undone by them. Feelings were distracting. Sometimes he floated in a haze through the day, unless he was training or working and needed to remain sharp, and it was easier. They were often sparse with details, but not like this. He was unprepared and loose in deep water. How did it feel to be a prisoner uncertain of his position or his fate? He could only guess, but sometimes he felt like a prisoner himself, so he tapped into those feelings that he ordinarily shut out very carefully. His performance had to feel authentic.

“Are you hurt?”

The Soldier startled, and for a moment he remained stunned that he’d been startled at all. He peered over his shoulder, getting his first glimpse of the man since the events of the previous night.

He coughed, hoarse as he offered, “Do you need help to sit up?”

He continued to stare. The man was still bound, but the chains had been slackened enough that he could moved somewhat about the room. He’d picked a section of curved wall to put his back to and collapsed into it, but he was starting to pull himself up to attention the longer he watched the Soldier. He hadn’t been hosed down after last night, when he’d been left covered in blood and the Soldier’s fluids, and his chest was still painted a rusty brown that overlaid the purple hues. It had run in streaks down his legs that were hidden by his position but had left smears on the floor. It was clear that he hadn’t moved from that spot once he’d picked it.

Of course the hood was gone. He’d expected that. But it was oddly shocking to finally see his face, his eyes alert and calculating, his mouth set in what might actually be a concerned frown. It was a strange combination, and for some reason, something almost like dizziness washed over the Solider at the sight of it.

Finally, the man moved as if to come over and help him. The Soldier artlessly rolled to his knees and turned around, sliding himself back to the wall before he slumped down and sighed. He didn’t have to feign exhaustion; he was always somewhat exhausted, but carefully never risked showing it. His hair flopped forward over his face and blocked out the harshness of the lights.

“I’m fine,” he said, letting the weariness seep in. That’s what people said, right? That they were fine, no matter what. It’s fine, I’m fine, you’re fine. As an afterthought, he added, “Thanks, though.”

He should let the man initiate the conversation. It was less suspicious if the Soldier appeared to have little interest, if he appeared to warm to the man instead of being overly eager from the start. People tended to be more preoccupied with themselves already, especially people in a situation like this. Self-interest, at least at the start, was more realistic.

For a long time, nothing happened, neither spoke, and the only movement was the careful, shallow rise and fall of the man’s chest. It was almost peaceful, and the Soldier actually got close to falling asleep, drifting in that in-between state.

“Who are you?” the man finally asked.

He peered through a gap in his bangs. He thought the man might be military, now that he had more postural freedom. He held himself like a fighter, like a leader, and not like a man in the aftermath of his first visit from the Soldier on his nightly rounds. It was impressive.

“Just another soldier,” he said, telling a half-truth while he considered how best to lie. The man would want a name. Too common might sound fake, too memorable would be bad as well. He sounded American. He might open up to a fellow compatriot easier, but he might also be quicker to notice inconsistencies. Still, the Soldier put on a good American, so it was worth the risk. Warily, as though he wasn’t sure he could trust his new cellmate, he offered, “Call me Jimmy.”

The man narrowed his eyes. It was surprisingly fascinating to watch the gears in his mind turn; it was clear that his thoughts were going a mile a minute, but they were indiscernible. He was smart, definitely. He considered the Soldier with a steadiness that didn’t suit the situation, a gravity that did.

“Rogers.”

The Soldier nodded in acknowledgement, though the name meant nothing to him. He shifted a little awkwardly, carefully flexing his fingers as much as he dared.

“Any reason they’ve got you trussed up?”

He snorted. He couldn’t help it. Rogers was sitting there in chains; a flick of a switch would drag him back to the multi-purpose torture platform where he’d be immobilized much more thoroughly than a mere scrap of cloth. “Any reason they’ve got you in enough hardware to lift a steel girder?”

Rogers’ mouth pinched at the corners at first, and he looked away, but then his shoulders relaxed slightly. “Turns out they learn from their mistakes.”

That much was true. He shrugged as much as he could. “Guess they’re just careful.” He paused. “You been here long?”

His eyes closed, and an odd expression crossed his face, like he was counting. “Not long. Don’t plan to be. You?”

“A while. Not sure. Feels like decades.” He wasn’t sure how old he was, but he knew how young he looked, and what it sounded like.

Rogers softened at that. “It’s two thousand fourteen, if that helps.” He looked around the room, glanced toward the door, gesturing at the jacket. “I could probably get that open for you.”

A surge of something unidentifiable shot up his spine. His mouth opened while he thought. “I don’t want to make them mad,” he settled on, and that was true, too.

Rogers nodded, a kind of sadness and gentleness in him that the Soldier hadn’t been on the receiving end of in … maybe he never had. Where had he seen it before, then?

His stomach growled, loud in the quiet of the small room.

“Are they starving you?”

The Soldier looked up, deciding how to proceed, but before he could answer or even look directly at Rogers, they were plunged into darkness. The heavy flap in the bottom of the door slide away, a thin stream of light from the hallway beyond spilling into the room, and then it was blocked by a tray being slid under. The flap closed, and it was dark again.

It was over in seconds, but it felt like chaos, rattled him like few things did, and he wasn’t sure why. The smell of weak broth reached him. It was probably cold.

“I think they want you to eat,” he said.

“Have they ever drugged your food or water?” Rogers asked immediately.

“Sometimes.” No point in lying about that one. “Not often. It’s not really their style. It’s probably safe. You should have something. You don’t know when they’ll be back.”

Re: FILL part 2/? Re: Identity Porn in captivity

[(Anonymous)]

Authoranon, you're killing me here.
"He could only guess, but sometimes he felt like a prisoner himself, so he tapped into those feelings that he ordinarily shut out very carefully."
"Still, the Soldier put on a good American"
“A while. Not sure. Feels like decades.”
OH BUCKY.


I love all the subtle power stuff here -- The Soldier feels like he has the power in the situation, not realizing that he's as much at the whim of HYDRA as Steve (and simultaneously, not recognizing his ability to defy HYDRA if he ever thought to do it). And Steve has the power to move the Soldier with kindness.

And all the little hints of the Soldier's fears -- the witholding of food, the removal of the arm. Being stuck in this facility and not seeing the outside. The lab.

And STEEB! So kind, so smart, so feisty... <3 <3 <3

Re: FILL part 2/? Re: Identity Porn in captivity

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you so much for reading and for those observations. I'm so glad the characterization is being well-received.