garbage all the way down (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trashmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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 (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)