Chapter Text
No matter how much Sam wanted to believe Tony really was going to be the “good cop,” he could feel that something was going to go wrong. He also hadn’t missed Tony’s argument with Clint and his complete disregard for Scott (although he was funny about it). He also wasn’t entirely over the fact that they wouldn’t be in their current predicament if it weren’t for the so-called “philanthropist.”
Clint was staring at him—Sam could see him pretty well from the foremost of his cell—and if they weren’t in the most high-security prison in the world he might have even joked about his hawk eyes.
They looked at each other, and Sam knew Clint was wondering what he had told Tony. Or maybe he did know and he disapproved. Either way, there was no way they could communicate unless they wanted Ross and the guards to hear, and they both knew that was out of the cards.
An hour after Tony left, one of the cells in the room began to move, metal and glass clicking and adjusting to lower in a more heavy duty enclosure than the ones the men were in. Wanda sat inside, bound to a chair and in a straitjacket. The shock collar around the young witch’s neck pulsated red every few seconds, and Sam just leaned against the bars of his cell to stare at the poor girl. They’d put her in isolation once they’d gotten to the Raft, and Sam was just glad to see her back, although she looked downcast.
Wanda raised her eyes and stared out towards the door, a few seconds before it swung open and Ross walked in with the guards. Sam wondered how much the restraints they had put on Wanda actually worked, most of her powers came from her mind, after all. They were scared of her, rightfully so, and yet still seemed to underestimate the young woman.
Sam knew that only added to her power. He wasn’t sure if Wanda did.
Ross surveyed them for a few seconds before pointing at each of the men individually. He lifted up a briefcase, “In my hands are deals. Deals that will allow you to see your family again.”
Scott moved forward eagerly, but the frown on his face indicated he wasn’t as naive as Sam might have assumed. He knew Tic-Tac had a daughter; he’d protested about not being able to see her when they’d dragged him out of San Francisco. Sam felt bad now, but at the time it had felt necessary. Especially after Tony brought in that Spider kid.
Clint scoffed at Ross’s proposal, “And what’s the downside?”
“House arrest. Two years.” Ross smiled, “Two is generous for the crimes you’ve committed, don’t you think?”
Sam wanted to roll his eyes at the politician’s fake benign attitude but he had a feeling that wasn’t going to go over too well.
“Two weeks to decide.” He turned around and walked out, dress shoes making soft noises against the metal floors.
Clint shook his head and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. Sam wondered if his wife and kids had even been informed that he was locked up, or if they’d just assumed he was on another mission. Their youngest was only an infant if Sam was recalling correctly.
If I were him, I’d take the deal. Not that Sam didn’t have a family he cared for—he had a sister, and she was planning to have kids soon. But he also knew he’d never survive being on house arrest for two months, much less two years. Plus, Bucky would never be offered a plea deal, and Steve would never take one. He’d never live down the guilt of not being able to help them.
He’d also never live down the guilt of not being able to help Wanda.
Ross hadn’t given her the option of house arrest, and that clearly wasn’t something the others had missed either. Clint was staring at her now, and Scott frowned in her direction. She hadn’t said anything since they’d arrived, though Sam wasn’t entirely sure if it had been a couple hours or a day.
“You okay, kid?” Sam wondered if Scott was thinking of his own daughter as he pressed his lips together in worry.
Wanda began to nod her head and then flinched as the shock collar beeped. Clint stood abruptly, “Did it just shock you?”
“Was it bad?” Sam asked, leaning against his cell bars again.
“Holy crap,” Scott muttered, glancing around the room like he was looking for a security camera to glare into.
Wanda just glanced between them warily, careful not to move. Sam could see Clint shaking his head aggressively in the corner of his eye, angry energy radiating off of him. Scott was still looking up at the ceiling, and Wanda just sat there, hopeless.
After what felt like an hour later, the door opened again, guards walking in with trays of food. Rice, beans, and water for the men, and something that looked like a chocolate protein shake for Wanda.
The men’s trays were slid between bars onto the ground of their cells. Wanda’s was placed in some kind of metal arm that entered through a slit of glass in her cell, ending up with a straw right in front of her mouth.
“You’ve got ten minutes to eat up,” the guard that looked in charge said. “Chop chop.”
Sam didn’t have much of an appetite, and watching Wanda wince as she tried to sip her drink also didn’t help much. Neither of the other two guys seemed to want to eat either—Scott pushed his food around with his spoon (Sam wondered if the guards thought they’d harm themselves with a fork), and Clint just sat on his bed, like he was starving himself in protest.
Sam didn’t think that would work, but he appreciated the idea.
The rice was dry and the beans were mushy. The water tasted like metal, like they’d gotten it from his old high school water fountain.
Ten minutes passed and the guards used what looked like fancy trash grabbers to drag their trays out. Wanda was the only one to finish her food, but she didn’t look too happy about it either.
“Night night!” The guard in charge sang cheerfully as the lights slowly dimmed. “Oh, we can still see you by the way.”
Sam could hear Scott sigh and murmur quietly, “Yeah, yeah, what were we gonna do anyways.” His bed made a soft clanking sound as he sat down.
The hopelessness in his voice hurt Sam a bit, but he couldn’t think of anything reassuring to say. His own bed was cold and he could feel the metal under the thin sheets.
“Good night guys,” Clint said. “Today wasn’t too bad.”
“Right,” Sam muttered under his breath. He propped his head up with his hands and had to use all of his military training to force himself to sleep, the red dot on Wanda’s shock collar the only source of light remaining.