garbage all the way down (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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hydratrashmeme2018-05-26 03:51 pm
trashmod) wrote in hydratrashmeme2018-05-26 03:51 pm
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 tomcu_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)]
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)]
Fill: Rejectamenta (3/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-01-10 12:31 am (UTC)(link)The Chair was inclined horizontally into a table and he was ordered to strip and lie face-down on in. There was muttering from the others. Two of the scientists left, upset by something Rollins had said. The Soldier paid them no mind. His mission was repentance. The remaining scientist and a technician strapped him down, spreading his legs so his feet and ankles hung over the sides of the table and securing them there. It made him afraid. He breathed heavily.
“Start the party, Darnell,” Rollins said once they’d secured the Soldier’s arms and neck. “Warm it up for me.”
It they called him. He’d never been it until Hydra had brought him to America. He realized that the designation bothered him.
“Yes, sir.”
There was something frightening in the woman’s voice. A barely-suppressed glee. Footsteps approached him. The Soldier wanted to turn his head and see what was about to happen, but he couldn’t.
“Three,” Darnell said, and the Soldier recognized the start of the countdown even as he recognized the feeling of something blunt and hard being pressed against his asshole. “Two.”
He knew it was the stun baton. Powered down now, but easily switched on at any moment. He told himself to relax as inevitable penetration neared. He told himself to relax because then it would hurt less, but a part of him was panicking. He had no training for this. This was not what he was for.
“One.”
The Soldier screamed. The baton felt like fire as it was shoved up his ass dry. Still off, but that was little comfort.
“Shut the fuck up,” Rollins snapped from behind him.
The Soldier shut his mouth, trying to be good, but whimpers of pain continued to escape. This was not what he was for. This pain was not helping him be better.
“Ugh,” Rollins said with disgust. “Just gag it.”
A technician undid his neck strap and gagged him with a wad of dirty cloth. He shoved the Soldier’s bite guard in afterward for good measure and slapped a strip of duct tape over his mouth. The neck strap was replaced. The Soldier breathed heavily through his nose into the metal table. The baton was in as far as it could go, and Darnell wasn’t moving it any more. He adjusted himself to the pain.
“Three,” Darnell began again. “Two.”
She never said the final number. The baton powered on with a crackling sound. The Soldier screamed into his gag as new pain blossomed inside him. The smell of burning flesh and hair filled his nostrils. He thought he might vomit, and he desperately held it down. He tried to struggle, his body shaking in the restraints. His fists clenched, the metal arm whirring frantically. He had to stop it. This wasn’t what he was for.
His left arm ripped through its restraints. There was shouting and swearing from all around him as he reached instinctively for the strap across his back. The baton was still inside him, but no longer shocking him. The pain had dulled.
“Oh no you don’t!”
Rollins yelled, and there was a surge of electricity through his left arm. It flopped to his side, hanging uselessly over the edge of the table. It wouldn’t respond to his mental commands.
“That fucking thing,” Rollins muttered at his left shoulder. “Alway skeeved the fuck outta me.”
“It doesn’t need it anymore, really,” said the scientist. “We could remove it.”
“Not cleanly. It doesn’t deserve that.”
The Soldier didn’t understand. He needed both his arms to be optimally functional for Hydra. He could feel that his right arm was healing wrong and would have to be reset. He couldn’t afford to lose his prosthetic.
“Perfect,” Rollins said. “Thanks, Darnell.”
The Soldier strained to see what Darnell had handed Rollins. Out of the corner of his left eye, he blearily saw Rollins brandishing what looked like a hacksaw. He tried to struggle again.
“Time to take this useless toy apart.”
The Soldier’s ears filled with the screech of rending metal. He forgot about the ache in his ass as the saw began to cut through the wires fused into his nervous system. His screams were muffled when Rollins hit the remaining tissue and bone of his original arm.
“Be careful,” said a technician. “That’s a lot of blood.”
“Who cares?”
Rollins sawed harder. The Soldier groaned as he felt most of the arm fall away. He could hear the blood dripping and pooling on the floor.
“He should heal,” said the scientist. “Besides, who care if he bleeds out? Saves us a bullet.”
The Soldier squeezed his eyes shut around involuntary tears. He accepted that he deserved this. He’d failed Hydra. They were under no obligation to give him another chance to be good.
“Darnell?”
The stun baton in his ass was switched on again. His eyes flew open as his body jerked and thrashed against the table. There was something inside him being stimulated by the electricity this time. Though he felt no pleasure, his cock grew hard against the table. His cock was pointing down, and it was very uncomfortable. The phantom of his left arm tried to reach down and adjust himself. He rocked his hips in frustration and let out a mangled whine.
“I wanna try!”
A technician said. The baton switched off briefly. Tears streamed from his eyes. The baton was shifted and twisted as the technician took over. It turned back on. More electricity surged painfully through the Soldier’s body. More blood surged painfully into the Soldier’s cock. His hips humped fruitlessly against the table.
“Look, it’s hard!”
Darnell giggled with girlish spite. Rollins laughed a moment later.
“Fuckin’ pervert. Always thought it might be a faggot. Has one of those faces, you know?”
The neck strap was undone. Fingers buried themselves into the Soldier’s hair and yanked his head up. They let go as quickly as they’d grabbed. The Soldier’s face smashed against the table. The action was repeated. The Soldier’s nose broke with a cracking sound. He barely registered the pain.
“Awww, it’s crying.”
The stun baton powered down as Rollins held the Soldier’s face up by the chin. The Soldier stared back at him with lolling eyes. He could feel the tears, snot, and blood dripping down his face. His cock pressed painfully against the metal table and his balls pulsed insistently.
“Not such a pretty thing now,” Rollins sneered. “What would your boyfriend say?”
Rollins must have seen the question in the Soldier’s eyes.
“Steve Rogers. Your precious Captain America. That’s the reason you failed the mission, right?”
“‘Til the end of the line.”
“‘Cause you two used to fuck back in the day? I thought so, but nobody believed me.”
Steve
The Soldier had just wanted to be good.
“You’re trash,” Rollins continued, shaking the Soldier’s head. “Fuckin’ garbage. Good for nothing, and no one.”
The Soldier reminded himself that he deserved this. He’d failed Hydra. He was failing Hydra. The Captain was alive, and he was glad. He wanted to be good for Hydra, and he wanted the Captain to be alive. The two could not be reconciled.
“Get that outta his ass!”
The stun baton was removed at Rollins’ command. It hurt more coming out than it had going in. The Soldier felt burnt flesh come away with it. He could feel the blood dripping from his asshole. Rollins dropped his chin but didn’t refasted the neck restraint. He moved behind the Soldier. The Soldier heard a fly unzip. He twisted his neck to look warily over his shoulder.
“Take care of its erection,” Rollins commanded Darnell as he took his half-hard cock out through his fly. “I don’t want it hard when I fuck it.”
Darnell grinned and took the stun baton from the technician who had last used it. She turned it on and brought the crackling instrument between the Soldier’s legs from behind. He understood her intentions and struggled to close his legs. His balls cried out in agony as she pushed the top of the baton against them where they peeked out from under him. He screamed into his gag and swallowed down the watery precursor of his vomit. His cock wilted.
“One more time.”
The Soldier was shaking his head from side-to-side, babbling desperate pleas that were lost inside his gag as Darnell obeyed Rollins. She pushed the baton harder against his balls this time, and held it there longer. The Soldier’s eyes rolled back in his head as he shrieked. The smell of burnt flesh and hair once again filled the room, and the Soldier was afraid again. They were breaking him. Taking him apart, piece by piece. He was nothing to Hydra anymore. Just garbage to play with.
Darnell pulled the stun baton away and turned it off. The Soldier’s head slumped to the table. His whole body ached, the pain radiating from his ass and between his legs. He felt someone climb on top of him and he looked over his shoulder. Rollins kneeled on the table between his spread legs. His cock was hard. He bared his teeth at the Soldier and spat on his hand to slick up his cock. The Soldier braced himself for the pain.
“You’re worthless,” Rollins reminded him. “Nothing to Hydra anymore.”
He shoved himself inside the Soldier. The Soldier groaned with the pain and let his broken nose hit the table as he tried to bury his face in the metal. His body moved with Rollins’ thrusts, and it ached. He knew he deserved this.
The Soldier barely registered when Rollins came. It was wetter inside him, but no less painful. His cock had remained soft per Rollins’ wishes. At least he’d been good for that.
Not good enough.
“Anyone else want a turn?”
Rollins asked the room, breathing hard with satisfaction as he pulled out and hopped off the Soldier. The other four all expressed desire. The men went first. The Soldier lost track of who was who. He had no more tears, but he closed his eyes and kept his head against the table. The last man to use him complained that the Soldier wasn’t moving enough, so the others helped remedy that. They hit him with the stun baton, hard enough to break skin. Someone found a box of medical instruments, and a scalpel joined the fun. They opened up the flesh in deep cuts along his thighs. He didn’t respond, until they pierced his right testicle with the scalpel. That made him scream and buck, satisfying the man on top of him.
Darnell went last. They turned the Soldier over on his back and restrained him like that. He offered them no resistance. He wanted them to be done as quickly as possible. Then they would kill him and end his misery.
When he thought about dying, he thought about the Captain.
Steve.
The Soldier was trash. He had betrayed Hydra for one of its enemies. He deserved everything that Hydra did to him. He deserved worse.
Darnell tried and failed to get his penis to harden. She shoved the stun baton up his ass once more and turned it on. She left it there even after he’d risen to the occasion. She sat on him with her back to his face and took him inside her. He could barely feel it over the roaring pain. His balls were burned and bleeding, and he was afraid they were damaged beyond repair. Not that it mattered. The baton burned him from the inside. He moaned with pain.
She rode him to her completion. He didn’t come, and his cock deflated once she’d dismounted and pulled the baton out of him. She helped by tapping the head with the baton, making him twitch and mewl. She burned him a few times on his inner thighs and across his abdominal muscles. Then she laughed and put her pants back on.
They kept him there for what felt like a long time. The Soldier knew they were waiting for him to die. He wanted to die. For some reason, he wasn’t dying.
Steve.
It was Rollins’ idea to give the Soldier back to the enemy. Let him suffer longer. Hydra didn’t want him anymore. He wasn’t good enough.
“You’re Rogers’ problem now,” Rollins told him as he and Darnell dragged the Soldier’s limp body to the front door of where the Captain was staying. “You’re his garbage to deal with.”
Darnell knocked on the door and she and Rollins sprinted back to the idling van. They sped away with the squeal of burnt rubber. The Soldier didn’t know where they were going. A Hydra safehouse probably. Hydra still wanted them. He curled his body tightly into itself and willed himself to die. He heard the door open behind him.
“Bucky,” the voice was all at once comforting and terrifying. “Oh god, Bucky.”
Steve?
“Steve?”
He knew the answer to his question before Steve responded.
Steve.
Re: Fill: Rejectamenta (3/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-01-10 01:45 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Rejectamenta (3/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-01-12 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Rejectamenta (3/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-01-10 01:50 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Rejectamenta (3/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-01-12 10:25 pm (UTC)(link)Fill: Rejectamenta (4/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-01-12 10:23 pm (UTC)(link)He would have to take care of Bucky himself. He couldn’t take Bucky to a hospital. Bucky was a wanted fugitive, and there was no way Steve was going to let him be locked up like this. He’d have to convince Sam, but Sam had already proven himself to be a trustworthy friend. And once he saw the state Bucky was in-
Steve didn’t know exactly what Bucky had been through since the Helicarrier, but he could infer from some of the injuries he saw. The blistered burn scars were all over Bucky, including around his groin and ass. There was blood in the same areas. The barely-healed marks from restraints could be seen circling his neck, wrist, and legs.
Hydra raped him.
White-hot rage blurred Steve’s vision. He breathed through it. The Avengers were assembling to hunt down the rest of Hydra. They’d find the pieces of shit that had done this. Steve would make sure they suffered.
He wondered if this was the first time Hydra had done something like this to Bucky. There had been no mention of it in Natasha’s file, but the more he thought about it, the more it made horrible sense. An evil organization. A mind-controlled prisoner. A mind-controlled prisoner they barely thought of as human, if at all. A gorgeous, mind-controlled prisoner-
He chided himself for thinking of Bucky as gorgeous. Not that he wasn’t, but now was not the time for that. It might never be the time for that again, but Steve didn’t care. He had Bucky back. Bucky was safe, here with him, and Steve was going to take care of him no matter what. Come hell or high water, until both of them were dead.
‘Til the end of the line, Buck.
“Bucky?”
The tub was too small for Bucky to lie flat. His broad shoulders were propped against the tiled wall in the back and his muscular legs were bent so he could fit. He turned his head and opened his eyes when Steve said his name, wary and weary. Steve’s heart clenched.
“I’m gonna turn on the water. Fill up the bath, okay?”
Bucky gave him a blank stare instead of an answer. Steve let the question linger in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time. Bucky said nothing. The only movement he made was the rise and fall of his chest. He didn’t even blink.
“Uh, so, just tell me if it’s too hot or too cold, okay?”
That same, unnerving stare. It wasn’t the same look he’d had on the Helicarrier bridge before Steve had reached him, but it also wasn’t fully Bucky. Apprehension clawed up Steve’s spine.
“Bucky, okay?”
Bucky finally blinked. His mouth opened slowly. Deliberately.
“Okay.”
There was so much pain in his voice, but Steve heard the dry rasp of his throat and realized that Bucky must be dehydrated. Possibly starving, too. He’d assumed the glassy fog in Bucky’s eyes was just from the pain, and he reproached himself for not seeing sooner.
“Hold on, actually,” Steve stood. “I’m gonna get you some water. And some food, do you want some food?”
Hunger pierced the listlessness in Bucky’s eyes and he nodded stiffly.
“Yes.”
Steve had a memory of Bucky in the trenches, eyes sharp with hunger. Bucky had been going through the same metabolism boost that Steve had, but no one had known that Bucky was full of Hydra’s super-soldier serum at the time so his rations hadn’t been increased the way Steve’s had been.
“I'll be right back. Just- don’t move, okay?”
“Okay.”
Steve tamped down his concerns about leaving Bucky alone in Sam’s house. Bucky seemed too weak to go anywhere or do anything too destructive.
Trap?
If it was, Steve was already caught. He’d laid his shield down for Bucky once. He’d do it again if Bucky was still lost beyond the rescuing.
But he’s not.
Steve filled up one of Sam’s gallon jugs with room temperature filtered water. He looked around for something Bucky could easily chew and digest. There were three brown-spotted bananas in the fruit bowl on the counter. Steve grabbed them, an unopened jar of peanut butter, and a spoon. Bucky was still where he’d left him when Steve returned to the bathroom.
“Here.”
Bucky’s eyes opened and he lifted his head. Steve helped him drink a quarter of the water, then eat a banana and a few spoonfuls of peanut butter, then some more water.
“Sweet,” Bucky commented around a mouthful. “I like sweet.”
He spoke with a childlike wonder. Steve’s heart warmed and he couldn’t help smiling.
“Yeah? Good.”
Bucky ate all three bananas, the entire jar of peanut butter, and drank all the water. He shook his head when Steve offered him more.
“Okay then. I’m gonna turn the water on, okay?”
“Okay,” Bucky’s voice was stronger. “Turn the water on.”
Steve twisted the knobs for hot and cold until he found a temperature he thought comfortable. Bucky hissed when the water reached his cuts and burns, but he didn’t object when Steve asked him his opinion, so Steve figured it was fine. When the tub was full Steve turned off the water and found a clean washcloth and a new cake of antibacterial soap.
“I’m gonna get you cleaned up,” Steve brandished the tools of his mission. “Okay, Bucky?”
“That’s not my name.”
Bucky glared at Steve with sudden ferocity. Steve held his ground against his instincts to fight or recoil.
“No, sorry,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “It’s not my place to tell you that. I’m yours now, you can call me whatever you want.”
There was fear and contrition in his voice. Fear of retribution. Fear of Steve.
“God, no,” Steve’s eyes widened. “You’re not- you’re not mine. Not like that, anyway. I mean, if you wanted to be, again.”
He was spiralling. He might as well be a Hydra handler in Bucky’s mind.
“I have been taking behavioral cues from you, sir,” Bucky continued flatly. “But if I’ve crossed a line, I must be corrected. I must be made better.”
There was a photograph in Natasha’s file. A black-and-white photograph where Bucky sat strapped to a large chair wearing a crown of metal and wires. In the picture, Bucky’s fists were clenched and his head was thrown back. In the picture, Bucky was screaming, his face twisted in such agony as Steve had never seen.
“I am gonna make you better,” he said gruffly. “I am. But it’s gonna be different from how they treated you, Buck. I’m not them, and neither are you.”
“I am whatever you want me to be, sir,” Bucky sounded intrigued by Steve’s words. “I’m your garbage now.”
“You’re not garbage.”
“Okay,” Bucky agreed too easily for Steve’s liking. “Then I’m your Asset now. Your Soldier.”
No. No, you’re my Bucky.
“I can be better,” resolve filled Bucky’s tone. “I know I can be good for you.”
His shoulders straightened. The right, and the mess of the left.
“They gave me to you,” there was that wonder from before. “I’m yours, because Hydra wills it.”
“Bucky, no- ”
“I wanted you to be alive, and then Hydra gave me to you. I won’t fail again.”
“Bucky.”
Steve forced his voice to be calm and commanding. Bucky looked at him. There was determination in his face. Like he was once again Steve’s Sergeant, waiting for his Captain’s decision.
“You never failed, okay? You never failed me.”
Bucky’s determination remained, but Steve could also see his devotion. It made him want to take Bucky into his arms and never, ever let him go. It made him want to kill everyone responsible for reducing his strong, confident Bucky to the traumatized shell in front of him. Even if that included Steve himself.
Most of all, it made Steve want to be worthy of Bucky’s devotion.
“I’m gonna help you get better,” Steve said, voice thick with emotion. “Because you never failed me, Bucky.”
I failed you.
Re: Fill: Rejectamenta (4/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-01-13 06:26 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Rejectamenta (4/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-03-22 04:16 am (UTC)(link)Fill: Rejectamenta (5/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-07-28 04:44 am (UTC)(link)_________________________________________________________
Sitting in the warm water, his wounds protesting, the Soldier thought he understood.
It had taken him a long, painful time to understand, but now that he did he felt something like peace. He had doubted Hydra, but Hydra had come through. His punishment must have been for his doubts. Now that he had been corrected, he could serve Hydra better. He hadn’t been meant to kill the Captain after all.
There seemed to be a paradox in there somewhere, but the Soldier wasn’t meant to think through paradoxes. He was sharp, cunning in battle, but that was what he was for. He could think tactically as missions demanded, but he wasn’t for devising Hydra’s overarching plans. That wasn’t what he was for. The Soldier dismissed his new doubts and focused on his new mission. Being the Captain’s Asset. Being good for the Captain, because it was Hydra’s will.
“-you never failed me, Bucky.”
There were unshed tears shining in the Captain’s eyes. The Soldier resisted the insane impulse to touch his face. He wasn’t authorized to touch a handler without express permission. He heard the Captain’s words, and felt something like pride. The Captain forgave him his doubt.
“Thank you, Captain.”
But something about his words made the Captain flinch.
“Steve. Call me Steve, Bucky, please.”
If the Soldier had ever been allowed to address a handler by first name, it had been wiped from his memory. This was foreign to him, but he could adapt easily.
“Okay. Steve.”
Steve.
The name comforted him as it left his mouth. Steve meant everything to him, and the Soldier now knew he was allowed to take comfort in him. Steve smiled at the sound of his name and warmth filled the Soldier’s chest. It was foreign, yet he felt the pull of home.
“I’m gonna clean you up now,” Steve brandished the soap and square of blue cloth. “Okay, Bucky?”
The anger the Soldier felt every time Steve used that name was lessening. He was allowed to be called by that name. He was allowed to feel like it was home. Hydra had willed it. The Soldier mimicked Steve’s smile. He knew Steve would like that. He wanted to be good for Steve.
“Okay.”
Steve dipped the soap in the water at the Soldier’s feet, swirling slowly. The Soldier watched the milky residue drift toward where his knees protruded from the bath. His entire body ached, and he could feel the new sting from the soap in the cuts and burns on his legs.
“I can clean and repair myself, Steve.”
It wasn’t fair to Steve that he should have to waste time and energy on maintenance that the Soldier had brought upon himself. More than that, Steve was different from any other member of Hydra that he could recall. Some of his injuries would upset Steve, and the Soldier couldn’t bear that thought.
“Repair?”
A cloud passed over Steve’s face, and the Soldier winced. He’d already failed again, and he didn’t understand exactly how.
“Yes. The bone in my remaining arm was broken during our previous encounter and it’s healing incorrectly, I’ll need to reset it. I’ll need to do the same with my nose. Three of the cuts along my inner thighs aren’t healing quickly enough, I’ll have to put in stitches. And- ”
He paused. Steve had been listening to the list with determined patience, but something told the Soldier that the last item would upset him greatly. The Soldier himself was uneasy with it.
“And?”
There was a desperate sharpness in Steve’s tone, and it made the Soldier decide to do something he’d never done with a handler before. He decided to lie.
“And, so, I’ll need a needle, thread, scissors, bandages, and something I can use as a sling.”
The Soldier couldn’t explain why, but he knew he needed to protect Steve from the damage that had been done to his testicles. The right was dead, he could tell, and he would have to cut it out before the gangrene could spread, but he thought the left might be salvageable. It stung so sharply he was certain it was still alive. Even if he had to remove them both, it wasn’t such a great loss, and significantly less important than the damage to his arms. He could still function without them. He could still be good.
But he somehow knew that Steve wouldn’t understand. Steve was so different from any other member of Hydra.
“Okay,” Steve said carefully after a moment. “I can go get Sam’s medic kit. But I’m gonna help you patch yourself up.”
“I’m gonna help you patch yourself up.”
He knew he’d heard that before. It was almost as if he remembered the words coming from his own mouth, directed at Steve, but that wasn’t possible. It wasn’t-
“I don’t need your help, Bucky!”
“Okay, fine, you don’t need it. You’re gettin’ it anyway.”
“Bucky?”
Bucky?
“I’m trying,” the Soldier whispered desperately, his eyes focusing on Steve’s. “I’m trying to be good for you.”
“You are good,” Steve’s voice cracked. “You’re so good, Buck.”
The Soldier didn’t know what to believe.
“I’m gonna go get Sam’s kit,” Steve said as he stood, leaving the wet bar of soap on the side of the tub. “Stay there.”
The Soldier nodded. He didn’t move until Steve returned. Steve placed the kit on the closed toilet cover and knelt once more.
“I’m gonna clear this water.”
Steve informed the Soldier as he reached for the drain. Dirt, blood, and soap receded. When the tub was empty Steve turned the water back on, but didn’t set the drain. The washcloth darkened as Steve soaked it in the faucet’s waterfall. He took up the wet soap and coated one side of the washcloth with it.
“This is gonna sting, okay?”
The Soldier grunted his assent. It barely hurt when Steve rubbed the soapy cloth over his face, carefully clearing the blood away from his broken nose. He rinsed the washcloth, soaped it up again, and cleaned the Soldier’s face one more time. Satisfied, Steve rinsed, relathered, and repeated the cleansing ritual over the Soldier’s back and chest. Then his right arm, held at an awkward angle at his side. Then the remainder of his left, cleaning the blood away from the wires, metal, and flesh. Then his legs, taking special care with the bleeding gashes in his thighs. It all barely hurt. Rinse, relather.
“I’m gonna do your- uh- between your legs now, okay?”
The Soldier wasn’t sure that was okay, but he said it was. He braced himself. He couldn’t let Steve know. Steve was reverently gentle as he caressed the Soldier’s limp penis with the washcloth. Soap stung the Soldier’s burned foreskin.
“God, Buck,” Steve’s horror was guarded but discernible. “Your balls are really swollen- ”
The cloth moved lower, and the Soldier bit back his yelp of pain. He looked down. His scrotum was distended, dwarfing his penis, and the skin was much darker than it should have been. It was probably too late, he’d probably have to remove both of them, maybe the sac as well-
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t quite know what he was apologizing for, but he looked sorrowfully up at Steve. Steve’s brow furrowed. The roar in the Soldier’s ears drowned the roar of the water.
“Not your fault, Buck,” Steve bit his lip briefly. “I just, uh, I don’t know, it looks real bad. I’m gonna- don’t move.”
He left the bathroom again. He returned quickly with a paper towel-wrapped iced pack.
“Here, I’m gonna try and get that swelling down, okay?”
The Soldier shifted his legs to allow Steve to place the pack between them. It started to feel slightly better after a few seconds.
“Thanks.”
“Hey,” Steve forced a smile. “Just lookin’ out for my best guy, right?”
Those words were hauntingly familiar, too. The Soldier didn’t want to dwell on them.
“How’s, uh, how’s your ass feelin’?”
Now that the pain between his legs was numbing, the Soldier focused on the pain inside. It hurt, but he could tell that the burns and tears were healing. No permanent damage there.
“Fine.”
Steve was studying his face carefully. Eventually he nodded, apparently satisfied.
“I’m gonna have Sam check you over when he gets home, too. Before we rebreak your arm, okay?”
The Soldier remembered who Sam was after a moment. Target: Samuel Thomas Wilson, former USAF Pararescue, EXO-7 Falcon test pilot. Terminate with extreme prejudice. The Soldier nodded stiffly.
“Okay.”
Another failure that had apparently been Hydra’s will all along. The Captain’s friend was alive, and that pleased the Captain, and thus Hydra, but-
Something still didn’t make sense. It gnawed at the Soldier’s mind. It didn’t make sense. Something was wrong.
Who are you to question the will of Hydra?
He was no one. Garbage.
“Bucky?”
He was no one, and he was upsetting the only one who mattered now.
“Yes, Steve?”
Steve looked sad even though the Soldier had used Steve’s name. He’d made Steve sad.
“You keep goin’ somewhere, Buck. Where do you go?”
The Soldier didn’t understand.
“I didn’t go anywhere,” he answered. “I’m right here with you.”
There were more tears in Steve’s eyes. The Soldier was failing.
“You are,” Steve’s voice was full of awe. “Fuck, you are, aren’t you? I never thought- ”
He reached a hand to the Soldier’s face, pausing before he made contact. The Soldier dipped his head, pressing his cheek into Steve’s broad palm.
- a small, charcoal-smudged hand on his face. Playing with his lips, caressing his newly-shaven cheeks.
“You’re gonna leave marks, Stevie,” his voice admonished playfully.
“Good,” came the petulant, but affectionate, response. “Gonna mark you up good. Let the whole world know you’re mine- ”
“I’m yours, Stevie,” the Soldier mumbled, closing his eyes and rasping his stubble into Steve’s hand. “All yours.”
Steve’s arm trembled and the Soldier’s eyes opened. Tears streamed silently down Steve’s face and his shoulders shook. The Soldier was still failing, and yet, he felt as if he wasn’t.
“You- you fell, and I- I thought I’d never see you again,” Steve swallowed hard. “I looked for you, Buck, I swear I did, but we were going too fast, and the snow was so thick, and- ”
The Soldier had no idea what Steve was talking about, but he listened intently, looking up at Steve with wide eyes.
“I’m never gonna fail you again. Do you hear me, Bucky? Never again.”
Steve promised with such ferocity that the Soldier nearly recoiled. He didn’t fully understand, but he understood that Steve wasn’t mad at him. Steve was mad at someone else.
“You didn’t fail me, Steve,” he quietly reassured his new handler, desperate to be good for him. “You never could.”
It was the truth, but Steve’s face crumpled. He sobbed helplessly for several minutes, hand pressed to the Soldier’s cheek like salvation. The Soldier didn’t fully understand, but he understood that Steve needed this. Needed him, for some impossible, unknowable reason. The water poured heavily from the faucet and disappeared down the open drain. The ice between the Soldier’s legs warmed. He didn’t move. The aches in his body were unimportant. He waited for Steve.
He was being good for Steve.
Re: Fill: Rejectamenta (5/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-07-29 03:49 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Rejectamenta (5/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-07-29 07:54 pm (UTC)(link)Bucky's poor balls! (But it's okay... Steve will still love you after you remove them...)
Rejectamenta (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-08-04 08:32 pm (UTC)(link)“I’m never gonna fail you again. Do you hear me, Bucky? Never again.”
He couldn’t stop crying. Bucky was here with him again, horribly damaged in every conceivable way, and Steve couldn’t stop crying like a fucking child. He hated himself for it. He hated how he hadn’t been strong enough for Bucky to begin with.
“You didn’t fail me, Steve. You never could.”
He hated that he was making Bucky reassure him now. He wished he could believe the words. He sobbed pathetically, unable to stop touching Bucky’s face. He was irrationally convinced that if he couldn’t feel Bucky then he would fade away into nothing. The Winter Soldier, a ghost after all.
“Sorry,” Steve apologized once his waning tears were under control and his mind had cleared enough that he could let go of Bucky’s face. “Let’s- let’s finish up and get you outta the bathtub.”
He washed Bucky’s hair, pouring water over it with a plastic cup, using some of his own 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, then pouring more water over it until it was clean. Resetting Bucky’s nose was easy enough, and Bucky didn’t react to the sharp crack or to the pain it had surely caused. Steve set it with medical tape from Sam’s kit. Stitching up the cuts on Bucky’s thighs was harder, but he’d done it enough times during the War that it began to come back to him. His stitches looked perfectly symmetrical by the third cut, black X’s of surgical thread marring the pale flesh of Bucky’s inner thigh between paler pink scars left from shallower gashes. The swelling in Bucky’s balls hadn’t gone down as much as Steve would have liked after the ice pack, and he tamped down his unease at Bucky’s obvious discomfort with them. He’d ask Sam to take a look before he started truly worrying. Steve figured that if there was a serious problem down there, Bucky would let him know. As it was, Bucky seemed more concerned with his right arm-
He felt a stab of guilt. He’d done that, broken Bucky’s arm to make him drop the chip that would stop Insight. He’d saved so many lives, it was selfish for him to dwell on what the personal cost had been. The way his heart had broken when he’d heard the bone snap and Bucky’s corresponding scream of pain, and known he had been the cause-
Never again. He was going to make it all up to Bucky, starting now. He’d promised.
Steve turned off the water and helped Bucky out of the tub. He was able to walk on his own, limping tenderly, legs spread so wide he waddled. Steve wrapped a clean, blue bath towel around Bucky and showed him down the hall to the guest bedroom where Steve was staying. The bed was barely big enough for Steve, but he didn’t mind sleeping on the floor. He wondered if Bucky would have the same trouble with the bed’s softness as Steve did. How had Bucky slept, when he hadn’t been suspended in cryo? What
He dressed Bucky in some of his clothes. A white T-shirt and dark grey sweatpants. Bucky and Steve were of a similar size now, and the tiny, sick boy still inside Steve had a moment of wonder at that. The wonder was short-lived when Bucky hissed in pain as Steve helped pull the sweatpants over Bucky’s hips, jostling his balls despite Steve’s best efforts.
“I’ll go get you some more ice,” Steve offered as Bucky sat heavily on the end of the bed, panting. “And, uh, painkillers don’t work for me, but maybe they will for you, I could find some Advil?”
Bucky gave him a questioning look, and Steve remembered Natasha’s file. All the pain Bucky had been subjected to, and with no offers of pain relief from Hydra.
“I’m fine, Steve.”
The smile Bucky gave him looked more like a grimace, but Steve nodded and went to get an ice pack. He brought it back to Bucky along with another gallon of water and the med kit with its painkillers. Bucky stuck the ice pack gingerly down the front of the sweatpants, making them bulge awkwardly. He declined the water, the kit, and Steve’s third offer of more food. Steve put the jug and the kit on the bedside table.
“Okay, uh, well.”
Steve didn’t want to let Bucky out of his sight, but he didn’t want to crowd Bucky or make him think he didn’t trust him. He decided that he could keep an ear out for Bucky while he cleaned the bathroom a second time.
“You should get some rest, okay? I’ll be in the bathroom if you need me.”
Bucky nodded stiffly. After a long moment under Steve’s scrutiny, he lay back on the bed, head on the pillow. After another long moment, staring blankly at Steve, he closed his eyes.
“I’ll be in the bathroom if you need me,” Steve repeated softly. “I love you, Buck.”
There was no reaction. Steve turned off the lights, left the door open a crack, and took Bucky’s towel to the laundry room. Then he scrubbed the ring of grime and blood out of the tub. He redid the tile floor. He brought the dirty washcloth, towels, and rags to the laundry room. Before he started the wash cycle, he pulled off the shirt and jeans he was wearing and threw them into the washing machine with everything else. He went back to the guest room in his boxers to check on Bucky and put on new clothes.
He was a few feet from the cracked door when he heard Bucky’s suppressed gasp of pain.
“Buck?”
He threw open the door and flipped on the light switch. It took him a moment to register what he was seeing. Bucky was sitting, legs spread wide in front of him, on a 5-by-5 foot square of thin plastic laid down over the carpet. He must have gotten it from the medic’s kit, which lay open on the floor to his right. He had one of Steve’s old leather belts folded up and clenched between his teeth. Between his legs was a small pool of blood. His flaccid penis was taped up to his left thigh. A yellow rubber tourniquet was wrapped tightly around the top of his discolored scrotum, which he had cut open raggedly with the medical scissors that lay bloody on the plastic sheet between his thighs, along with his testicles, also swollen and discolored. He seemed to have been in the process of stitching up his scrotum one-handed when Steve had interrupted him, and he looked up at Steve with wide, streaming eyes full of determined agony. His hand trembled as it hovered with the threaded suturing needle over the slit he’d made.
“What in the fuck?”
Steve roared as his brain finished putting together the horrific puzzle pieces before him. Bucky flinched, terror joining the other emotions in his eyes, but Steve couldn’t care about scaring Bucky with his anger. Not when Bucky was busy castrating himself like it was nothing.
“What did you do?”
Steve moved in front of him, lightning fast, and Bucky looked like he wanted to run away as fast as Steve had come to him. He probably would have run, if not for the mess he’d made between his legs. He spat out the belt. There were teeth marks gouged deep into the brown leather. Steve knelt and grabbed Bucky’s wrist, pulling it up and away to prevent him from damaging himself further.
“They- they were dead,” Bucky’s voice cracked with pain as he gestured with his chin at the organs he’d severed. “I- I couldn’t save them, I’m sorry.”
“What- but why- why didn’t you tell me?”
Steve floundered helplessly. Of all the potentially dangerous things he’d imagined Bucky doing out of his sight, he’d never even considered this. Bucky’s wet eyes glinted with defiance, then just as quickly narrowed in consternation.
“I don’t know. I don’t- I didn’t want you to be upset.”
Steve laughed bitterly.
“Well, you fucking failed at that.”
He wanted to be sorry for the way the words hit Bucky like a slap in the face. He wanted to, but his horror was too great.
“It won’t happen again,” Bucky said heavily. “I know you’ll have to correct me for it, but- ”
Bucky took a shuddering inhale as Steve’s boiling rage began to simmer.
“Please, sir, let me finish,” Bucky sounded exhausted. “I need to close it up before anything gets infected.”
The needle and thread were still clutched in his fingers and his hand twitched subtly. Steve didn’t let go of Bucky’s wrist. His mind raced. He was angry with Bucky for doing this to himself, but he was mostly angry with himself for thinking he could begin to understand what Bucky had been through. That he could begin to understand the amount of trauma it would take to make Bucky think this had been a good idea.
He’d just wanted Bucky back. He’d just wanted to believe everything would be the way it had been before. That everything would be okay. He was a fool. A selfish fool, and he’d put Bucky in danger because of it.
“It’s Steve,” he reminded Bucky gruffly. “Not sir. And I- I’ll sew you back up, okay?”
He shuddered with involuntary horror as he looked down at the mess he’d just promised to fix.
“Okay,” Bucky nodded too easily. “Thank you, Steve.”
Bucky smiled, but Steve could see that it didn’t reach his eyes. He released Bucky’s wrist and let Bucky hand him the suturing needle. He replaced the belt between his teeth while Steve rummaged in Sam’s kit for gloves and disinfectant.
“This is gonna hurt, Buck.”
A laughable understatement, and probably unnecessary, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to hurt Bucky without some kind of warning. Bucky nodded and closed his eyes. It felt more like resignation than trust to Steve. He snapped on the latex gloves and sprayed disinfectant over the needle. Then he sprayed more over the open wound in Bucky’s scrotum, and tried to ignore the distressed noises Bucky made from behind the belt. Steve had been painstakingly careful sewing up Bucky’s thighs, but here he took on a new level of assiduousness. He couldn’t let his mind wander to the last time he’d touched Bucky so intimately, without gloves or washcloths between them. He couldn’t let himself remember the way Bucky had groaned with pleasure instead of pain when Steve had rolled his balls in the palm of his hand while suckling at his straining cock like the sweetest ambrosia-
That might never happen again. In fact, after this, Steve was pretty confident it wouldn’t. Hydra had taken his strong, confident lover and turned him into someone Steve barely recognized. Someone Steve had no idea what to do with-
He had to stop stitching for a moment to collect himself. He let his anger burn itself away, imagining it as some kind of long-range weapon, finding each of its targets and destroying them. Schmidt, Zola, Karpov, Pierce. Some he’d met, some he’d read about in those awful files, some he didn’t even have names for yet, but he imagined each one screaming in agony as his anger burned them alive until they were nothing but ash.
Bucky made a sound behind the belt that could have been Steve’s name. Steve looked up from his paused work. There was a question in Bucky’s eyes, fighting its way through the pain, and, buried deeply behind all of that, Steve thought he saw a glimpse of the man he’d known since they were both children.
“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve shook his head and smiled faintly. “Just had to collect my thoughts ’s’all. Nothin’ to do with you.”
The Bucky that Steve had seen so briefly receded behind the confusion and pain, but he’d given Steve new resolve. This was Bucky. His Bucky. Strong and confident, and a thousand Hydra pissants couldn’t take him away from Steve, no matter how hard they tried. Steve didn’t understood exactly who Bucky was now, but he’d learn. He’d adapt. He had Bucky back, goddamnit, and that should have been impossible. Everything after that was cherries.
I’m not gonna fail him again.
He finished sewing Bucky up and gave him a final spray of disinfectant. He wiped the blood from Bucky’s scrotum and thighs, gently removed the belt from Bucky’s lips, and, once he’d peeled off the gloves, Bucky let Steve wipe away the involuntary tears that had collected in his eyes.
“Hey, look, just tell me next time, okay?”
“Okay.”
Steve got Bucky another ice pack and watched as he reclined on the bed once more, weariness weighing down his remaining limbs. Steve cleaned everything up, making sure he was never away from Bucky more than two or three minutes at a time. He didn’t know what to do with the severed testicles, the sight of them made him nauseous, so he put on new gloves and threw the organs into the furnace. The smell was awful, but it would dissipate before Sam came back. Steve fought down his worries about all the physical and psychological repercussions of Bucky losing his balls like that. One crisis at a time. It was a sure thing that the bone in his arm would have to be reset, and Steve would need Sam’s help with that, once he’d convinced Sam that they couldn’t take Bucky to a hospital. That was the next battle, assuming there was nothing else going on with Bucky that he wasn’t saying-
Bucky slept for hours. Steve sat in a chair by the door and watched him, lost in thoughts of worry, vengeance, and love.
Re: Rejectamenta (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-08-05 07:55 am (UTC)(link)Re: Rejectamenta (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-08-06 05:16 pm (UTC)(link)I am so looking forward to Sam’s reaction to all of this.
Re: Rejectamenta (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-08-12 04:18 am (UTC)(link)Re: Rejectamenta (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2019-08-12 06:13 pm (UTC)(link)