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: Daybreak part 8a Re: Identity Porn in captivity

[(Anonymous)]

He could have laughed. What did he know?

“Not as much as some people,” he said. It was true enough. “They call him the Winter Soldier.”

“The Winter Soldier,” he said, weighing the name. His focus was unnerving.

The Soldier feigned surprise. “Have you seen him?”

Rogers bristled. “I think we’ve met,” he said tightly.

“How do you know it’s advanced?”

“I’ve been around a lot of people with prostheses, seen cutting-edge technology. This thing is precise. Functionally indistinguishable except that it’s bigger, stronger, and feels like metal. That’s a tall order.”

He filed that information away, but couldn’t help noting something else. “Feels like?” It was cruel, digging at him that way, but the Soldier wasn’t here to be kind. He had to see how he would react. “When did you get the chance to feel up the ghost?”

He stiffened, narrowing his eyes. The answer was obvious, so he didn’t dignify that with a response.

The Soldier tried to look sheepish to walk it back. He wasn’t sure if it was effective, but it was worth a shot. “He’s a living weapon. Most people who see him, it’s the last thing they ever do.”

“Is he high up in the organization or is he contracted?”

The Soldier laughed. “He’s a pet. He does what he’s told.” He turned inward, angling his body away to signal the end of his willingness to have this discussion.

The lights went out. Another tray slid under the door. Rogers offered it to him, but when he didn’t answer, Rogers broke his hunger strike and ate in silence.

-

Rogers continued to press him for information on the Winter Soldier, and he fed him bits and pieces, mostly irrelevant things, before shutting him down each time. Eventually Rogers stopped asking. He suspected that he’d left him with the impression that he, too, had been wounded by the Winter Soldier. As ludicrous as it was, he wasn’t even sure he could convincingly deny it if asked.

They got past the awkwardness of the Soldier’s misstep. Rogers didn’t seem to hold it against him, at any rate. He grew used to the rhythm of his visits. Rogers grew more haggard.

At one point, with forced casualness, Rogers asked whether he knew if they were spending their days or their nights together. The Soldier wasn’t always aware of time and often didn’t know whether it was day or night when he’d been kept in the lab too long, but he was certain that they were intentionally disorienting Rogers and wanted to keep him off-balance as much as possible. The lights went on and off at random, his meals were erratically scheduled, and he couldn’t know how long he’d been unconscious every time they knocked him out. Maybe part of him was trying to deduce when he was being assaulted exactly, but the bigger part, the more likely part, was that he was losing track of time, and it disturbed him. He didn’t know how long he’d been trapped in that room. He couldn’t.

The Soldier apologized for not being able to answer, and Rogers shook his head.

-

They finally let him back out into the field. He was crouched on a rooftop all night before dropping onto the fire escape and slipping up the stairwell. It was over within minutes after that. By the time he got back to his handlers and debriefed in the lab, the sky was just tinging orange across the horizon. They hurried him into the building. Another ten minutes and he’d have witnessed the sunrise.

He thought they’d strip him down, log his weapons, address his injuries, and send him to his cot, but instead they directed him to the round room. His nostrils flared before he could tamp it down. The agent leading him down the hall took no notice.

He breathed deeply before stepping across the threshold, eyes on the floor while they closed the door behind him. When he finally looked up, Rogers was just where he’d expected him. He ached with fatigue, but he hadn’t visited any other prisoners tonight for a change, so it was quick work to get himself ready and slick and plunge ahead. He moved single-mindedly, briskly, until he finished, pulling out quickly and then standing by the door to wait. He waited for some time before he realized that they weren’t going to let him leave until they were satisfied.

He sighed, rubbing his hand across his eyes until stars erupted in his vision.

He approached Rogers again.

-

They fed him immediately upon exiting the round room. He ate ravenously. Dealing with Rogers was beginning to affect his appetite, but after all of the energy he’d expended since his last meal, he needed the calories. He had no expectations this time. They might allow him to shower, they might allow him to sleep, they might need him for any number of tasks. His preference was irrelevant.

When they presented him with the jacket no more than an hour after he’d left Rogers strung up and dripping, he bit his tongue to silence the whine of frustration trying to emerge.

In. Down. On the floor. Roll to his knees, sit back, scoot to the wall. He didn’t look at Rogers immediately. When he did, Rogers was staring at his wrists, twisting the cuffs around his forearms as much as he could to try to rub them. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his legs and fingers. He’d probably only been released from the platform in the last half an hour or so. The Soldier had no knowledge of the protocol used, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they gassed him for that as well. Most likely, anyway. Half the time he’d wake up alone with new aches, half the time he’d wake up bound and be forced to wait.

Of course, he was waiting for the Soldier’s arrival either way.

So this was Rogers’ routine, then. He would stretch and give himself a cursory once-over.

“You’re early,” he said. There was something off in his voice. It wasn’t shaking, wasn’t rattled, but there was a note there that wasn’t normally present. Maybe he was used to the extra time to collect himself, and Call Me Jimmy had caught him off-guard.

He tried and failed to shrug, slumping further down the wall instead. “They send me, I go.”

Rogers finally looked up, eyebrows drawing together and mouth pulling into a frown. His voice was cold with anger when he spoke. “You’re hurt.”

Oh. Right. His tongue snaked out to prod at his bruised lip. His eye throbbed. He’d forgotten about those. They didn’t matter; they hadn’t slowed him down, and he’d accomplished the objective. “It’s fine.”

Rogers studied him, looking him up and down with fresh eyes, the strangeness of the last few minutes erased. He wanted to say something. He was biting it back, but he must have thought his captors, “their” captors, had beaten him. It was a very reasonable assumption, and it would be easy to move past. It wasn’t like there was anything either one could do about it, and if he indicated that he didn’t want to talk about it, Rogers would abide. Besides, Rogers wasn’t one for deep feelings talks, anyway. Just practical details and tactics.

Neither was particularly interested in talking. Considering the long game his superiors were counting on, one fruitless session didn’t amount to much. It was even easier to wait silently once the lights flickered out.

Eventually, though, shortly after the lights had reemerged, the consequences of the Soldier’s abbreviated maintenance routine became difficult to ignore. His bladder was extremely full and protesting painfully. He could ignore discomfort, could make it disappear to the back of his awareness, but there didn’t seem to be any point in trying, and in all honesty, the longer he was around Rogers, the more difficult it was to do. It was getting harder to keep still.

That got Rogers’ attention. “Do you need help? Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “No, just nature taking its course. I’ll live.”

Rogers pressed his lips together. He glanced around the empty room. “If you need a hand…”

The Soldier froze. Was Rogers really offering to open his pants, hold his penis, and help him piss? The full farce of it would be lost on Rogers, of course, ignorant as he was to the situation, but bitter laughter welled up in the Soldier’s throat and died before it made a sound.

“I understand if you’d rather not,” he continued. He chuckled darkly. “Believe me, I do. But you can do some real damage ignoring that one. How long has it been?”

He squirmed, sharp jabs reminding him that it had been a full day since he’d last relieved himself. He had strict orders not to actively damage himself or cause damage through negligence.

“Okay.” He bit the inside of his cheek as he rolled to his feet. “Fine. Sure.”