hydratrashmeme | 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.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sam had known when he told Steve they weren’t all getting out of there that this wasn’t going to be pretty. True, he hadn’t thought he’d end up in super hero Gitmo, but he’d know there weren’t going to be Miranda rights and a call to his lawyer. He thought the guys who showed up under Ross’s command—US Marshalls in blue came and bulletproof vests—might even execute them right there at the airport and save themselves the hassle of detaining them. But Ross had apparently decided not to unilaterally shoot them all, at least not in front of the Leipzig police.

But when Sam had his face “accidentally” shoved against a van door as the Marshalls were loading them, he figured they’d been rounded down to international terrorists, and would be treated accordingly. Three of them didn’t have actual superhuman abilities to speak of, so at least they were all the same amount of vulnerable, all other things being equal. But of course, all other things were not equal.

When they’d all been processed—strip searched, hosed off, and dressed in detainee uniforms that looked like medical scrubs—the guards, armed with M4s, hustled them into individuals cells on sub level eight. Sam saw Wanda when they marched her in, staggering like she was drunk or drugged.

“Wanda, you OK?” Barton asked from somewhere to Sam’s right. There came a muffled reply that Sam couldn’t make out.

Before they had time for anything else, the doors at the far end of the room whooshed open to admit Secretary Ross, perfectly neat and orderly in a uniform that certainly wasn’t standard military issue. He’d have looked sharp, if not for the smug expression on his face. A swarm of guards followed him into the room and took up positions behind him.

“One of you,” Ross said, turning slowly to look at each of them, “is going to tell me where Captain Rogers is going, or you won’t like the consequences.”

Sam kept staring at the floor. He couldn’t see the others, but he knew no one would talk. They weren’t nearly there yet.

“You’re wasting your time,” Clint said.

That made Sam smile, at least. It was nice someone was feeling brave. He wondered if any of them had done the tactical calculus on who would bear the brunt of Ross’s “consequences.” Not Wanda, with her unpredictable abilities and wide, soulful green eyes. Not Clint, with a photogenic family on a farm in a swing state. Not even Scott, who already had a criminal record, since an adorable daughter helped balance the scales. But Sam knew that the mug shot they’d taken on the way in, Sam’s face smeared with blood and dirt, so haggard and exhausted he could barely stand, would be re-tweeted a thousand times by people who saw nothing but a thug.

“No answers? Fine. Have it your way.” Ross turned to the guards behind him. “Take Wilson.”

Sam had already pushed wearily to his feet to face to cell door. When the guards pulled him out, he didn’t struggle, and he looked straight ahead as they led him out of the room.

holy shit anon holy shit my heart's... fucking pounding... better comment to follow but wow thank you, smelling salted handkerchief to my nose and fainting couch handy, need to avail myself of them

back to say, by better I mean slightly more detailed I guess, that specifically But of course, all other things were not equal and, agreeing with anon below, the moment Sam is already standing up when Ross names him... Wow. Ouch and wow. And just the grim realism of Sam already thinking They weren’t nearly there yet,, because he's probably the only one (other than Clint) systematically trained in resisting torture, so this strange place of him knowing intellectually what's going on, but not having experienced it, and then we know he's being realistic but is also WRONG about what they're planning... WOW, author anon, the fucking tension

OP HERE AND I'M SO EXCITED!!!
First of all, this is the first time a prompt of mine gets answered, so a huge THANK YOU!

But Sam knew that the mug shot they’d taken on the way in, Sam’s face smeared with blood and dirt, so haggard and exhausted he could barely stand, would be re-tweeted a thousand times by people who saw nothing but a thug.

This broke my heart! Lovely start, a!a, I'm really looking forward to the next part.

Yay OP! I hope this lives up to your expectations! I am having fun playing with Sam's emotions-- wait, I mean grinding his heart into powder-- wait, I mean... uh...

Omg. The way he was already getting up because he knew he'd be taken? !o!

To be clear, that was tears running, not a laugh!

Ha, I'm glad you clarified!I was like O.o Some people find strange things funny!

Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Fill: untitled Sam trashing (1/?)

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