Steve wakes alone. He gets up and paces around the empty cell a few times just to make sure, but Bucky’s vanished and it makes Steve wonder for a moment if he hallucinated the whole thing and Bucky was never really there to start with. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing.
He finds a place to sit in the back corner where he and Bucky fell asleep and waits.
And waits.
He counts the minutes as they tick by, but there’s nothing to do but stare at the blank walls and wonder if he’s going crazy. Bucky had been there though, Steve remembers the warmth he’d radiated sitting beside Steve, the distant look in his eyes.
He was here.
Steve’s halfway to dozing off again, but the door opens with a hiss as it slides to the side and he’s up and on his feet, ready to barrel through the door and--
Two guards enter the room, dragging Bucky in by the arms. Steve takes a half-step back. Bucky’s out, but he could tackle one of the guards and maybe get a weapon. Though Steve can’t see that either of the guards have weapons on them. The guards don’t even acknowledge him, instead dropping Bucky onto the floor and turning around. By the time Steve makes up his mind and bolts for the door, it’s already hissing shut.
Steve hits the door with his fist, letting out a frustrated shout. He’ll pay attention next time. He has to, if he wants to get Bucky--
Bucky hasn’t moved from the floor. He’s completely limp. Steve’s hands hover over Bucky, unsure what happened or what--
“Steve,” Bucky says, voice raw and rough. When his eyes open, they’re so bloodshot Steve almost wants to look away. Bucky reaches up with one hand and paws at Steve’s face, grip slipping until Steve catches the hand and holds it in place.
“What did they do?”
Bucky closes his eyes. Steve runs his hand through Bucky’s hair, grown shaggier in the years he’s been gone. Bucky doesn’t move or show any sign he can even tell Steve’s there anymore. Steve tries not to panic, but for the life of him he doesn’t understand what’s going on. He has no idea, just that… that he’s here to make Bucky go along with whatever Nazi shit they have planned. Steve really doesn’t know.
But Bucky’s alive and in some ways (in ways Steve hates) it’s better than being alone in Brooklyn. Steve waits, leans back against the wall next to Bucky. No one disturbs them. Eventually, Bucky shifts and moves in closer to Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle and burying his face in Steve’s side. Steve runs a hand through his hair again, just resting.
“What are they doing to you?” he murmurs. Bucky doesn’t say anything, just tightens his grip a little and noses in further to Steve’s side.

Nothing happens, much. At all. There’s nothing but dead silence and the sound of Bucky’s breathing and sweet Jesus Steve knows that could keep him going for a long time in any other situation. Here, it keeps him on edge. Reminds him he’s not alone and how wrong everything is and how much he’s got to lose.

They take Bucky out again and bring him back several times. Each time he’s more quiet than the last, though still snuggles into Steve’s side and clings to him for dear life. They bring meals once every ten hours or so (Steve’s counted, because what else does he have to do? especially when Bucky doesn’t even seem to know he’s there). It’s mush and disgusting, but Steve’s always so desperate for food by then that he accepts it.

Finally, Bucky doesn’t come back and Steve gets woken up in the dead of night. Hydra goons bodily pick him up and carry him out of the room. Steve wouldn’t be okay with the manhandling under normal circumstances, but god, it’d be better if they’d at least let his feet touch the ground instead of fully carrying him from place to place like he’s nothing. Steve tries to memorizes the corridors they pass as they move, but there’s not much to memorize. Everything looks exactly the same. They make a few turns and go down three flights of stairs and into a gray room.
Bucky’s handcuffed to a table inside, three men looming above him. Steve’s not sure what he’s expecting, but being dragged into the chair across from Bucky isn’t what he’s expecting. His wrists are handcuffed to each arm. Bucky’s expression across from him is unreadable.
“Soldier.”
Bucky stiffens, looking up at one of the figures addressing him. Steve tries to crane his neck around to see whoever’s behind him, but it’s too much of a turn around.
“You failed your mission.”
Bucky nods.
“You must be punished.”
He nods again, most slowly this time.
“As an asset, we can’t afford to injure you. You are needed out in the field. So for your failings, your friend will face consequences.”
Bucky says something that Steve doesn’t catch with his bad ears, but whatever it is enrages the head officer. He steps forward, leans across the table next to Steve, and backhands Bucky roughly.
“You’re not to speak back, do you understand?”
Bucky flinches, eyes flicking to Steve. He nods.
Steve feels his heartbeat picking up as the guards around shift out of view. He hears the door open and close, but doesn’t have any idea of who’s still in the room or who came in. Or what’s going on, besides the fact that he’s been assigned to be Bucky’s whipping boy for when he doesn’t go through with whatever evil plans Nazi scumbags have cooked up. Someone finally comes into view and Steve immediately wishes they hadn’t when he sees the hot poker in the guy’s hand.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Someone behind him pulls Steve’s shirt down and off his left shoulder so his collarbone is fully exposed.
“No, no, don’t--” Steve breaks off in a scream when the metal touches skin.
He’s burned his hand on a stove before, but there was always that reaction of just pulling away from the pain. Here, it goes on and on and on and Steve’s still hearing himself scream.
The sharp burn finally lights up and Steve opens his eyes and realizes the brand lifted off his skin at least. Steve gasps and slumps back against the chair. As much as he can without moving, he looks across at Bucky. Completely straight faced. Steve’s almost angry, until he sees the tear tracks on his face.
“Is that all, sir?” someone asks behind Steve.
“No. Break a few fingers.”