hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Welcome to the latest, greatest, scummiest iteration of

hydratrashmeme. Come on in and please check your sense of shame at the door.

Rules in brief: Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because this is emphatically not a safe space. Link your fills on the fill post. Unprompted fills: make a prompt or a header comment and reply to it with the full text. Continuations of fills from earlier rounds: just make sure you link in both places.

What's on-topic: Filthy and perverted twists on all the quality whump served up by Cap: Winter Soldier. Noncon, aftermath, uncomfortably sexualized violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves.
What's off-topic: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, shippy/romanticized noncon, MCU heroes repurposed into OOC or edgydark delivery vehicles for your fave's suffering. If you've got a prompt for one of those burning a hole in your brain, head on over to

mcu_trash.

[Rules in full] [Round 1] [Round 2] [Round 3] [Round 4] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive] [Round 5 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

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“Let’s get this off you, okay?”

Steve slowly indicated his desire to remove the Soldier’s mask, but the Soldier shook his head violently, fighting his restraints for the first time. The gurney shook, the wheel locks strained, and Steve was afraid he’d break free and Steve would be forced to fight him.

“Okay, okay,” Steve put his hands up in surrender, eyes wide. “The mask stays on.”

The Soldier settled. He still hadn’t made a sound. Steve had the horrible idea that maybe Hydra had cut out his tongue.

“Can you speak?”

Nothing. Not even a shake of his head. Just that suspicious glare Steve couldn’t stand.

“You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. My name’s Steve. Steve Rogers. We, uh, met before, remember?”

Stormy blue eyes bored into him, betraying no hint of recognition.

“I’m gonna,” Steve faltered, knowing the foolishness of his next idea. “I’m gonna untie you.”

He needed the Soldier to trust him. Steve couldn’t help the Soldier if he didn’t trust him.

“Okay?”

The question lingered in the air as the Soldier continued to stare at him. Then, miraculously, he nodded stiffly.

“Okay,” Steve tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “I’m gonna start with your legs.”

The Soldier nodded again, watching as Steve undid the straps on his right foot, calf, and thigh. Steve focused on this new mission, telling himself not to look between the Soldier’s legs again despite his morbid curiosity. He released the Soldier’s left leg, and the Soldier let both legs fold at the knee, over the end of the gurney. It was low enough that his feet touched the floor. He didn’t try to struggle or kick at Steve as he made his way around to unstrap the Soldier’s right arm. Then, he leaned across the Soldier’s body and released his gleaming left arm.

“You’re free,” Steve said as he carefully stepped away from the gurney. “Let me find you some clothes, okay?”

The Soldier didn’t move at first. Steve found his tac gear crumpled in a corner and brought the pants and undershirt over to where the Soldier lay. The Soldier stared at him, his brow furrowed.

“Stiv?”

His voice was muffled by the mask, but Steve heard something curious and hopeful in his question.

“Yeah,” Steve put his hand over his heart. “I’m Steve.”

“Stiv. Ty moya missiya.”

“I don’t, I’m sorry, I don’t speak Russian.”

There was so much pain in this man’s eyes. So much, that Steve wanted to rush to him, cling to him, make every horrible thing Hydra had done to him disappear. This man was a complete stranger, not to mention a murderer, but the impulse remained. Steve felt like he knew him. Like knew those eyes.

The Soldier stood from the gurney in one fluid motion. He was tall, as tall as Steve. His hair fell to his shoulders. His left arm hummed. His eyes swallowed Steve’s soul.

“You’re Steve Rogers. Captain America.”

The Soldier’s voice was flat with no trace of an accent. There was something about his voice that Steve recognized, too.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Steve held out the Soldier’s clothes to him, ready to fight if he needed to. The Soldier made no motion to take them. His eyes released Steve and swept the room, hovering over the bodies of his attackers.

“I’m supposed to kill you.”

“I figured.”

Steve’s throat was dry. His muscles ached with tension. The Soldier’s eyes returned to him.

“I don’t think I will.”

He stepped forward and took his clothes from Steve’s hand. Steve held his ground.

“I can help you. Come with me.”

Steve wanted to know everything. Who the Winter Soldier was. What he was to Hydra. He wanted to know who this man was. Why he had this effect on Steve.

“Come with me, please?”

The Soldier didn’t answer. He pulled on his pants and undershirt. Both men stood facing each other in the room, empty save for the gurney and the bodies of the dead or unconscious men. Steve was in the civilian clothes he’d been wearing for days. The Soldier could pass for a civilian, too, in black cargo pants, black tank top, and bare feet. He could pass, except for the arm. And the mask.

“What’s your name?”

The Soldier was examining him. Like he was stripping Steve down with his eyes.

“I am the Fist of Hydra.”

The Soldier didn’t sound like he had an opinion on that. There was no pride or joy in his voice. Steve had a flash of memory. 1944, a dinner with Howard, Peggy, and Bucky. Howard’s laughter. Another, more recent memory. A sheet pulled over Nick Fury’s face.

A part of Steve wanted to kill the Soldier right there.

“Okay,” Steve reminded himself that he didn’t have the whole story. He had no idea what else this man was a victim of. “But what’s your name?”

“Steve,” the Soldier said again. Not in answer, but in deliberation. “Steve.”

His eyes returned to Steve’s face, and they opened in quiet wonder.

“I know you.”

There was something in his eyes. Something in the way he said Steve’s name. Something that Steve knew, though he didn’t dare to think it.

“Take off the mask.”

It was an order. Like the Captain he was, speaking to a subordinate. He had to see.

The Soldier obeyed without hesitation. The mask fell to the floor. Steve fell to his knees.

“Oh, God.”

There was wind in his ears, he was dizzy with it. It was cold, and the wind howled, but it didn’t howl loud enough to drown out the lingering scream of his lover falling to his death.

“Buck- ?”

He choked on the name. It couldn’t be. There were clones, shapeshifters, robots, aliens-

He knew it was. He knew.

“Bucky?”

Bucky cocked his head quizzically, looking down at Steve. The greasepaint was spread all the way down his face, like streaks of dark tears.

“Is that my name?”

Steve nodded wildly. There were too many emotions inside of him, cancelling each other out. His vision clouded and something hot and wet was running down his cheeks.

“Bucky,” Bucky said his name slowly, chewing both syllables with excruciating care. “Bucky. Bucky.”

OP here--First of all, I'm glad that my prompt inspired you to write again after everything, and I hope that you're doing okay (*hugs*).

I'm really enjoying this so far! I like how Steve recognizes the WS's similarity to Bucky, but doesn't consciously identify what's affecting him so strongly at first: he's not thinking outright "this person looks like my lover", he's thinking that things about him seem familiar but isn't sure *how*. And the way you have Steve torn between wanting to kill the WS or comfort him is great too. And of course that reveal ...

Looking forward to seeing more, if you get around to it. Best of luck.

This is brilliant so far. I love the tension as Steve is rescuing him and trying so hard not to subconsciously recognize him through the mask and voice. The conflict between seeing him as a victim vs criminal is awesome too. I'd love to see more if you end up continuing. Take care and thank you for sharing your writing.

Amazing! The “is this my name” part killed me!

“Bucky.”

Steve whispered his lover’s name after Bucky had finished. He stared up at Bucky through his tears. Bucky’s face was lean with the shadow of stubble on his chin and cheeks. The greasepaint made the whites of his eyes shine.

“How are you here?”

Steve had his own theories, but the question slipped before he could stop himself.

“I received my orders from Director Pierce last night,” Bucky intoned, back straightening. “My team and I rendezvoused here. While we awaited information on the location of the targets, Commander Rumlow deemed it appropriate to engage in recreation with- ”

“No,” Steve interjected forcefully, not wanting to hear the rest. “I meant how- how are you alive?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t understand the question.”

His voice was still so flat. There was no trace of the Brooklyn accent that Steve remembered. It was wrong. Everything was wrong.

“That’s okay, nevermind.”

Steve rose to his feet.

“Will you come with me?”

The nightmare of what would come next was dawning on Steve. The explanations to Nat and Sam. Keeping Bucky safe and hidden while they made a stand against Pierce and Hydra.

“Where?”

The creases in Bucky’s brow deepened and he squinted with confusion.

“Home.”

The word escaped before he had a chance to reflect on it. It was a ridiculous word to use here. Steve had no home, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself of the contrary. He hadn’t had a real home since 1942 when Bucky had shipped out for basic training and left Steve alone in their apartment.

He had no home, but for the first time since he woke up in this strange century, he thought that he could have one again.

-------

It should have been a simple mission. The Asset was leading a STRIKE team to remove four enemies of Hydra before they could compromise the Director’s Insight. Director Pierce had given the Asset permission to use any means necessary, attack in broad daylight as the Asset had when Director Fury was the target. Civilian casualties were of no matter.

The Asset had rendezvoused with the four elite STRIKE personnel at a SHIELD base. It had recognized some of them from the Fury mission. Commander Rumlow stood out in particular. The Asset remembered how he had looked at the Asset, a hungry gleam in his eye as he followed the Asset’s orders. The Asset rarely felt anything, but Rumlow made it feel uncomfortable. No matter. After Insight’s launch, the Asset knew it would be permitted a wipe. It could maintain until then.

“Five fuckin’ hours,” Agent Rollins complained, sitting slumped against a wall with the other men while the Asset stood apart from them. “Why we gotta wait five fuckin’ hours?”

The Asset didn’t know. It wasn’t its place to question. It knew Rollins should be reprimanded, but that wasn’t its place, either.

“Quit your bitchin’,” Rumlow admonished his subordinate. “You know what they say. Only boring people are bored.”

Rollins shut his mouth, scowling.

“What is this room, anyway?”

Agent Hunter asked, looking around the barren room with curiosity. Rumlow shrugged.

“Medical storage I think. Look, they’ve got stirrups. Hey Rollins, aren’t you overdue for a pap smear?”

Rollins sarcastically pretended to laugh, with a glare at Agents Hunter and Stewart who were chuckling lightly at his expense. The Asset didn’t understand the humor. It didn’t need to. Out of the corner of its eye it saw Rumlow leering up at him. It was unsettled.

“You know,” Rumlow looked between the Asset and the gurney with the stirrups. “I have an idea how we could pass the time.”

“No way,” Rollins caught on first to what Rumlow was implying. “You know that’s only for the higher ups.”

The Asset understood then. Directors and handlers were permitted to use the Asset sexually. At times it had been gifted to world leaders, diplomats, and politicians that Hydra was wooing. It didn’t remember the encounters, but it had been informed of them. Director Pierce had reminded it last night as he used the Asset over his kitchen table.

“I’m the fuckin’ STRIKE Commander,” Rumlow snapped with wounded pride as he stood. “That should be fuckin’ high enough. Besides, I got a trick up my sleeve- ”

“Only one way to find out.”

Stewart said as he stood, a similar gleam in his eyes. He palmed at his crotch, adjusting his visible erection. The Asset stood its ground, though its instincts screamed that it was in some kind of danger.

“I guess so,” Rollins conceded from the floor. “Commander, give it an order.”

“Wait,” Hunter stood up. “I’m not here for that. I’m not a queer.”

“Neither am I,” Rumlow glared imperiously. “Neither is the Director. That thing’s not a man. They cut its balls off years ago.”

He gestured at the Asset’s groin. Hunter blanched.

“What? No, really?”

“Yeah,” Rumlow smirked. “I heard its dick can’t even get hard.”

“Shit,” Hunter said, ogling the Asset with morbid curiosity. “I never heard any of that before. I wanna see.”

The three standing men converged on the Asset, Rumlow in the lead. The Asset stood its ground. It didn’t think Rumlow had the clearance to use it like this. If he tried, the Asset could stop him. Of all its current handlers, Director Pierce was the most possessive of the Asset. It knew he would want the Asset to stop Rumlow.

“Ne trogay menya,” it warned the men, looking directly at Rumlow. “YA ostanovlyu tebya.”

It raised its arms slowly into a defensive posture. It didn’t like the way its heart was pounding. Too fast for the circumstances.

“What did it say?”

Rollins stood and joined the others where they ringed the Asset. They were giving it plenty of space, but the Asset felt trapped. Its back hit the wall as Rumlow took one step forward. He grinned toothily.

“Zhelaniye,” Rumlow said, and the Asset knew that he had the authority after all. “Rzhavyy. Semnadtsat’. Rassvet- ”

The Asset’s muscles seized and it felt a fog seep into its brain. It hadn’t needed the Words since it had been defrosted here in Washington D.C. Director Pierce said he didn’t like to use the Words when the Chair worked just as well, and would even let the Asset make better tactical decisions in the field.

Rumlow finished the Words. The Asset let him know it was ready to comply.

“What the hell did you do to him?”

Stewart sounded impressed.

“Knowledge is power, gentlemen,” Rumlow’s voice was vicious, condescending. “Asset.”

The Asset already had all of its focus on Rumlow.

“Take off your clothes.”

The Asset complied. It reached for its mask last.

“Leave the mask. I don’t wanna look at your face.”

The Asset left the mask on.

“Get on the gurney. Face up.”

The Asset did. The men surrounded the gurney.

“Put your feet in the stirrups.”

The Asset did.

“Ugh, you were right.”

Hunter was transfixed by the Asset’s groin. He lifted the Asset’s small cock and ran his finger down the scar beneath it. He shivered with horror.

“Asset,” Rumlow said. “You’re gonna show me and my friends here a good time.”

The Asset nodded, its feet over its head and legs spread uncomfortably wide.

“Should we tie him- it- down?”

There was a note of trepidation in Rollins’ question.

“Shouldn’t have to.”

Rumlow tried to sound confident, but there was audible doubt in his voice.

“I’d feel safer.”

Stewart said. He had already pulled his cock out through his fly and was stroking it eagerly. Rumlow rolled his eyes, but didn’t put up any more of a fight.

“Fine. Pussies.”

Rumlow secured the Asset’s legs in the stirrups while Hunter strapped down its right arm and Rollins strapped down its metal arm.

“Not like those restraints are gonna do much good,” Rumlow felt compelled to add when they were done. “I mean, if it really wanted to hurt us.”

Something passed between the men that the Asset didn’t understand. Some thrill of danger.

“You first,” Rollins said to Rumlow, pulling his own cock out into the air. “Sir.”

Rumlow ignored Rollins’ insubordination. He released his straining cock from his fly, then spat on his right hand and coated himself with the saliva. The Asset knew that it wouldn’t be enough. It braced itself for the pain, relaxing its sphincter as much as it could. Rumlow moved between the Asset’s legs, prodding his cock around the entrance to its hole.

“One more thing, Asset,” Rumlow paused, a sadistic grin twisting his face. “Scream for me.”

He pushed his way inside. The Asset complied.

YESSS

I love the asset POV and I love Rumlow in this

(AA) I'd been having trouble writing more of this story, and then I realized that the trouble with a Steve POV in this situation is that once the trash party is discovered, Steve is going to end said trash party. Time for a flashback and narrator switch. :)))

And Rumlow. I love writing creepy, awful Rumlow <3

Thank you for the feedback, I really appreciate it!

O M G
this is all kinds of perfect!!!

(AA) Thank you! I was trying to figure out what this story needed, and it was obviously an extended trash party scenario! ;DDD

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Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Fill: The Victim, Pt. 2/?

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Fill: The Victim, Pt. 2.5/?

Fill: The Victim, Pt. 3/?

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