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 15a/15 Re: Identity Porn in captivity

[(Anonymous)]

A/N: Thanks for reading this far. I know some things are a little open-ended or ambiguous in this story, so feel free to let me know if there's anything you'd like addressed or answered and I'll see if I can work it into the sequel.

--

Bucky. Bucky Barnes. He’d absorbed the stories Steve had told, and the truth of them spread like oxygen. All it took was a breath to let it in, and it set off a chain reaction, his blood carrying it up to his brain to make everything clear and right. He’d volunteered for nothing. He didn’t know whether it was the lie they’d fed him or the absolution he’d given himself, that he must have believed, must have been willing to die for this. But he knew better now.

His thoughts ran together like melting ice cream when he thought about it too long: cold and sharp at first, distinct and layered, but eventually just one big mess all over him. (The comparison alone was only possible courtesy of the vivid dream he had that night of his family at Coney Island. His family. He’d almost wept before he’d gotten hold of himself and stuffed it back down. He’d had a family once. A family and Steve Rogers.) It was dangerous to linger there. He had to let it go until his final mission had been satisfied.

Preparations would take time, of which he had very little left. Plans had been set into motion: Hydra’s, but also his.

With Hydra gearing up for whatever it was that had every tech, soldier, and spy buzzing around, the Soldier had more leeway than usual. There were fewer personnel on-site, and after a series of messy missions that had apparently taken a chunk out of their strike force, they were even more strapped for manpower. All of their resources were focused in one direction. No one noticed the Soldier wandering the halls, and with how they’d beaten him down, no one cared. All of the fear and disquiet he had inspired all this time had evaporated, no longer an attack dog but instead a lovesick puppy, as one agent had joked in passing. The Soldier hung his head his head low.

No one noticed him paying attention, soaking up every word they said. Anticipation had made them careless.

He had five days until they started their procedures. Five days to prepare. Five days to pretend.

He kept his eyes down and dragged his feet, but he went each time they directed him to the round room. Every time he arrived, Steve would wordlessly lie down or roll over, silent and unresisting. Just once, he’d turned away but stayed upright, waiting, thinking, praying, who knew. When Bucky Barnes had wrapped his fingers around the curve of his shoulder and pushed him down, he’d gone easily, guided to the floor.

If he’d thought about it when this had all begun, the Soldier would have said that he knew it would come to this. They all came to this. But having gotten to know him, the fight and the defiance in every inch of him, Bucky Barnes couldn’t quite believe that it had really happened. But he’d fix this.

He couldn’t risk Steve knowing, not with the advantage they had with Steve seemingly defeated and docile. But he ached every time he set foot in that room, every time approached him. Steve was done talking, done asking questions. He’d forgiven, but somehow that was worse. The absolution was more painful than the accusation by far.

It didn’t matter now. Now was the time to do what the Winter Soldier had really been trained for.

The lab was rarely empty, but with staff spread so thin and the lone tech suffering the unfortunate intestinal effects of the drug he’d slipped into her coffee, he stole a few minutes on their intranet. He wasted a precious two minutes familiarizing himself with their updated systems, but he was able to do what needed.

The Soldier was resting comfortably on his bedroll when she returned, groaning and muttering to herself.

On day four, with their teams out on bogus missions, a small fire in the lab, and a virus crippling their system, he finally had his chance.

He entered the round room as usual, careful to keep his head low and his face blank, but inside, he was soaring. He wanted to grab Steve and run, make a break for it and never look back, but he’d never been sure of the level of surveillance in that room. He’d gotten away with quite a bit, but it seemed now that they’d planned for that. As it was, they knew things. They could always tell when he hadn’t yet finished, and they would make him wait. So he had to keep up appearances, but he didn’t have to draw it out.

This was the last time he would be forced to do this. No matter how this went, really. If they failed, they’d be killed. And if they survived, well, this was the last time he’d touch Steve. He knew that much.

Steve seemed to see something different in him, for all that he barely looked up. He tensed and cringed away more than usual. But he didn’t fight, merely closed his eyes and waited.

When he finished, he lowered Steve to the floor, sunk down over him, and ghosted his lips over his neck, trying to get too close for any potential bugs to pick up his words. Steve shuddered and tried to squirm away, but the Soldier held firm. He pulled them closer together, as close as possible, still softening inside him.

Heart racing, he breathed, “I’m getting you out of here.”

Steve stopped struggling. “They’ll kill you.”

“I’m getting you out of here. You’ll have to pretend.”

Steve glanced over his shoulder. “Pretend what?”

“That you’re broken. That you’re compliant.” He started to ease out and sit up, but he kept his voice whisper-light. “Can you do that?”

Steve rolled onto his side. His expression was cautious but calculating, and that wouldn’t do.

The Soldier shook his head. “No. You don’t look the part.”

Steve looked down at himself, really looked, and then raised his eyebrows at the Soldier. “This doesn’t look the part?”

“It’s your face,” he said, already considering what to do about it. “Here.”

He slapped Steve, hard enough to sting his palm.

But that only made him look angry, got his blood up. The Soldier slapped him again, to more of the same.

“Steve. Come on.”

Steve huffed in frustration. “I don’t know what you’re looking for here.”

Before he could talk himself down, he slapped Steve with his metal hand, hard enough to send him toppling over. Steve stayed down for a moment, but when he looked up, the bewildered hurt in his downturned eyes said everything.

“Keep that expression. That’s the one. Now wait here.” He could have kicked himself after he said that, especially after Steve’s eyebrows pointedly went up, but he moved on. He was already pulling a small syringe from his belt as he stood, careful to conceal it in his palm.

He pounded on the door, unable to wait for them to let him out at their leisure this time. For a solid minute, nothing happened. It wasn’t until he switched to his metal hand that it opened.

“What do you think you’re doing, Soldier?” the guard barked.

“Rogers is ready to comply,” he said, blank and cold, as though he had no stake in this.

The guard raised his eyebrows, leaning into the room to look at Steve.

Steve was dutifully keeping his face exactly as the Soldier had instructed him to and his body loose and defeated. The guard snorted, stepping in even farther, but he was mindful of the Soldier.

“Time to act,” he implored. “You know where to report this. And you know he’s too busy to drag down here.”

The guard’s face pinched in thought. The Soldier had a speech prepared about the urgency of the hour, but he didn’t have to. The guard understood.

At any other time, they might have come to Rogers in his cell to investigate, but with chaos reigning, he had the feeling that wouldn’t be the case. He hoped, at any rate. It would complicate things if they didn’t lead Steve out. Sure enough, the guard tossed him the set of keys that would unlock Steve’s heavy cuffs, then crossed his arms to wait by the door.

Steve said nothing as the Soldier undid the cuffs around his wrists and threw them to the floor, where they clanged so loudly that some distant part of the Soldier wondered how Steve had been dragging them around this whole time. His wrists were a mess beneath them, bruised and abraded, but that would have to wait for later. Steve rubbed them carefully as the Soldier moved onto his ankles. Here Steve twitched, but he allowed the Soldier to work. He watched the guard as surreptitiously as he could. When he pulled away, finished, the guard grunted, annoyed, and tossed him a different pair. He gritted his teeth as he replaced the cuffs with a magnetic pair and locked them together in front of him.

Steve made a show of using the wall for support when he stood, flinching away from the Soldier and dragging himself upright much more pitifully than he really had to. The Soldier inwardly relaxed that Steve was playing his part so well. He tried not to wonder how much was exaggeration and pretend and how much was real.

The Soldier grabbed Steve by the arm and yanked. A thread of resistance pulled Steve back just for a second before he relaxed and allowed himself to be tugged along, marched out of the room and into the hallway beyond that he’d barely glimpsed.

The halls were as empty as he’d planned, but outside the cell, Steve looked out of place and small. His bare feet slapped loudly across the floor as he lumbered heavily, goosebumps sprang up along his skin from the chill, and the starkness of his nudity and general grungy appearances against the gray sterility of the hallway was startling.

Steve split his attention between his stumbling feet and the Soldier’s grip on his arm, head down. Every couple of feet, though, the his eyes would dart up for a split-second. The Soldier was certain that he was absorbing his surroundings and orienting himself in the space.

He almost couldn’t believe it had been that simple. The hard part, getting Steve out of the round room, was over. He tried not to wonder if it would have been possible any sooner if only he’d tried. He didn’t think it would have been -- the timing was perfect, and more than that, they needed to genuinely believe that Steve had been through enough, been beaten down enough, that it was possible -- but it was a slippery thought that clung to him like oil.