The Mimic (HE/HIM VERSION)

120

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. There was still no sign of freedom for y/n.

Every day was worse than the last. The same suffocating white walls, the same plain food, the same routine. It felt like torture. Y/n's nightmares had only been getting more and more distressing. They had been so horrifying that y/n refused to let Bruce turn the lights off in the cell. He couldn't handle it. The darkness and emptiness was terrifying - especially with the man in the suit's voice becoming more and more realistic in his head. At least with the lights on he could be reassured that there wasn't anyone lurking in the room with him.

The first few days inside the cell were full of screaming, shouting, and crying. Y/n tried with all of his energy to get out of the cell. But of course it hadn't worked. Everything in the room, including his clothes, was covered in a sort of solution that was resistant to any and all powers. The nothing that he could do. Blasting and punching the walls didn't even leave a mark on the pristine walls, but it had definitely left some marks on his knuckles. Y/n screamed until he lost his voice, he refused to eat, he refused to do anything, but none of it worked. Nobody entered the cell, and nobody left.

He did eventually cave in to it all, but it was only because he had no other choice. Being alone had completely broken him. Y/n had no interaction with the outside world. Hell, he didn't even have any windows to let in natural light. The only person he could talk to was Bruce, and he only interacted when he had tests to run. There was nobody to joke around with, nobody to vent to, and nobody to distract him from the permanent nightmare in his mind. It was strictly professional.

Sleep felt almost non-existent. Every single time he closed his eyes, he'd see another horrible memory. There was no escape to any of it. Y/n was in a constant state of exhaustion, almost to the point where he was beginning to hallucinate. He knew that if he slept it'd all be solved, but that was too terrifying. He couldn't deal with the nightmares anymore.

If he had Bucky, he'd be able to sleep. He was always the one to help him through the nightmares, and he was always there for his. But he wasn't there. He wasn't there to hold him and tell him that everything was okay. God, y/n didn't even know if he could remember how he smelt anymore. It was an odd thing to think about, but he was used to being around him twenty-four-seven. Bucky was home to him, so the idea that he was forgetting little things like that was heart breaking.

Y/n was currently sat in one of the corners of the cell, his back pressed up against the wall as he stared blankly at the ground. His legs were outstretched in a casual manner, but the bandages around his ankles made it obvious that he'd hurt himself trying to escape. Kicking a wall as hard as possible wasn't the best idea, but y/n was desperate and delusional. The blank look in his eyes was similar to when he had been sedated, but this time there weren't any drugs involved. Y/n was simply stuck in his head, too deep into the horrors of his mind. An empty shell of a person. Being in the cell had destroyed him.

It was y/n's birthday. But he had no clue. Inside that cell, there was no knowing what time of day it was. Every meal was the same, and now that Bruce didn't turn off the lights, there was no difference between day and night. It was all a constant torture.

But, Bruce knew that it was y/n's birthday. Usually he'd keep it professional and just ignore it, but he couldn't bring himself to do that when it came to y/n. He was completely broken. He barely even spoke. But, it wasn't out of protest, his mind had almost regressed to being back in Hydra. All of the trauma had been forced back up to the surface, and he couldn't handle it. So Bruce had decided to take a risk, and actually give y/n something for his birthday.

You see, Bucky had been writing letters to y/n. Every week a new letter would get delivered. Of course they never reached y/n, any type of communication with the outside wasn't allowed. Every letter would go through a rigorous process to ensure that there weren't any secret codes or plans to break him out. But out of the many that had been sent, Bruce decided on one. He didn't really understand it, but he knew that y/n would.

His evening meal and medication arrived as normal, with y/n being plunged into the darkness to allow the meal to be set into the cell without him realising where the door was. It was the same food and same tray every single time. But, it wasn't like he had anything else to do. If eating could distract him from his thoughts for a few minutes, he'd take it.

Y/n let out a slight breath as he pushed himself up and off of the ground, his whole body aching from being sat in the same position for hours. He blinked hard in attempt to eliminate all of the dark spots in his vision, but it didn't work. It never worked. His eyes were too tired. The silence was deafening as he walked toward the tray, bending down with a sigh to pick it up and take it over to his bed.

The food looked as bland and as disgusting as always. It definitely wasn't suitable for human consumption. The first few times he ate the food, his body threw it back up in a matter of minutes. It was horrible. Even Bucky and Wanda's sand cake would've tasted better.

However, as y/n picked up the tray, something stuck to the bottom of it fell to the ground. A piece of paper. Y/n frowned, setting the tray back down on the ground so he could get a closer look. Upon further inspection, it was an envelope. Curiosity begun to appear in his eyes as he reached out to flip the envelope over, unsure of whether this was actually meant for him or not. But, as soon as he read who it was addressed to, his whole face lit up.

'Jack'.