Sleep Deprivation, Exhaustion
His eyes start to close, and the air raid sirens go off again.
His heart beats faster, the urge to run, to find shelter coming over him. He groans.
Bucky blinks against the harsh lights in the room. He has no idea how long it’s been since they put him in here.
His captors had dragged him into this room, and chained his one arm up so he’s standing in the middle of the room. The cuff is tight around his wrist, and the chain isn’t long enough for him to move about the room. He can’t quite fall to his knees. It jerks him a couple inches from the ground, when he tries to kneel.
Every so often, someone comes in and injects something that keeps him feeling awake into him. The first two times, he tried to fight it. He stopped counting after that, and doesn’t try to stop them anymore. Too tired to even think about it at this point.
The light in the room is glaring, hurting his eyes every time he opens them. He swears it keeps getting brighter.
Every so often, they play loud music, or someone screams, or the sirens go off.
He just wants to sleep. Bucky almost doesn’t care if he breaks his wrist, if it would mean he could fall down and rest.
There’s no sense of time. He has no idea how long between visits. They haven’t fed him, though he has no appetite. His eyes are dry and burn every time he opens them.
Bucky sways, the sirens still going, allowing his knees to buckle again.
Like each time this happens, it jerks his arm, stopping him from reaching the ground. This time, there’s a pop, and he cries out as pain rips through his shoulder.
He’s already tried to reach the walls, to rest against them. They’re too far away.
The sirens stop, and he wants to cry in relief, though his ears still ring from the sound.
He’s so tired. He’s about ready to do anything, just for the chance to sleep, to rest, to close his eyes.
All he can do is wait.