Isolation
Bucky stumbles into the room as he's shoved. He manages to not quite fall over, still getting used to his new balance.
He shouts a curse, turning to show them just what he thinks of them, but the door is shut quickly, and he's alone.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he allows the bravado to fade away. It was exhausting to keep it up.
He hoped that Steve would come for him soon. Or at least, the war would end, and the Allies would find him and take him home.
Steve would be preferable.
Bucky carefully lowers himself down, against the wall. He allows his arms to fall back, going limp. Only, he's forgotten he doesn't have two arms. His stump hits the wall, and he gasps, hunching forward. Pain radiating up and down the missing arm. He grits his teeth, fingers pressing into his shoulder, as if that would stop the pain.
There's nothing to do but wait and see what his captors want.
They push in a bowl of something at some point. But otherwise, they leave him alone.
They do the same thing, the next day. Leaving him completely alone, except for when they push something inside, probably once a day.
Bucky walks around the perimeter of the room a couple times, for lack of anything else to do. Wanting to be semi fit when he gets out. SOmething about the room makes his head spin, after a couple days, and he doesn’t do it as often.
Bucky hums to himself, just to have some sound. He starts yelling at the guard every day when they bring him a bowl of something each day. He’s not certain it’s real food. He tries again when they come back to retrieve the bowl from him. They never react.
When Bucky tries keeping the bowl away from the door, to make them come in, they don't. Nothing happens. They also don’t come the next day to give him a new one. Or the next. Bucky gives in first. They take the bowl, and it’s immediately replaced with one full of whatever tasteless gunk they’re feeding him.
No one talks to him. No one comes in.
It almost makes him miss those first few weeks where they were cutting off his arm, and roughly making sure he didn’t die.
He wishes he knew what for.
He’s bored, and every little sound makes him jump. His beard keeps growing. He has nothing to scrape it off with. Although he isn’t sure he wants to.
And more time passes.
He wonders if he’s going crazy.
When he dreams, it’s of his family. Of Steve. What he would give to see them again. To hold them tight.
Those dreams become almost as bad as nightmares; causing an ache that he can’t get rid of.
And he waits.
Until one day, the door opens, and someone steps inside.