Chapter Text
The next day, after Clint had managed to distract Peter long enough for the boy to tire himself out enough to fall back asleep, Peter was the last of the three to wake. Sam was up first, having woken early for his watch, followed by Scott, then Wanda, then Clint. All of them sat in contemplative silence, not wanting to risk waking Peter from his much needed rest.
They would have let him rest a lot longer, but several guards shuffled in, the movement and a loud buzz jolting the boy awake just in time for a breakfast of grey mush and dry bread to be shoved through a small door at the floor of everyone’s cell.
The adults glared at the guards that stood outside their cell, watching them eat, but Peter cleared his throat, blinking slowly as he woke up.
“Um, Mr. Security Guard, sir?” Clint had to hold back a snort at that. “Can you tell us what the schedule is here?”
The man guarding Peter’s cell seemed surprised that the boy addressed him, regarding him warily before he let out a soft sigh. He almost looked sympathetic. “You get three meals a day. Every meal is the same. Your ability inhibitor should slow your metabolism to a normal rate so you won’t need more than the normal amount, right?”
Clint was surprised the man asked for confirmation, but the boy gave the guard a small smile and nodded.
“Good. Besides that, once a week we will take you out of your cell for a security check to inspect your cell thoroughly. You are monitored 24/7 by the cameras situated throughout the room and the lights stay on at all times. You are given 30 minutes for each meal before the tray is removed. The weekly inspections will last one hour, during which you will be moved to a secondary cell, which is also inspected between each one. Each of you have your own secondary cell, but the weekly inspections will occur one by one, not all together. Understood?” The guard’s voice seemed to be softer than he intended it to be, less authoritative and more informative.
Peter nodded back. “Thank you, Mr. Security Guard, sir. I appreciate it.”
The man nodded back, returning to his silent post.
The group ate in silence, processing their new schedule. They wanted to plan something, some way to get them — especially Peter — out, but with the constant surveillance and intense security measures, they had no idea how.
After everyone finished their food and the trays were taken, they were left alone again, wracking their brains for something to do or say to make the situation better.
Scott piped up, catching Peter’s attention. “Hey, Peter? You ever play sticks before?”
A wide grin drew across Peter’s face as he nodded happily. “You wanna play, old man?” he teased, to which Scott scoffed, clutching his chest in mock offence. “Oh you are so going down.” he declared, holding up his index fingers at the boy. Sam and Wanda watched, confused, as the two seemed to be mimicking poking each other and counting. Clint just smiled, having played with Lila a few times.
After a couple minutes, Scott groaned loudly, flopping dramatically back onto his cot while Peter jumped around, cheering in victory, only stopping as he jostled his ribs with a strained “whoops.”
“What the hell was that?” Sam asked the pair.
“Oh, it’s this game, sticks! We would play it on the bus all the time on the way to marching band competitions and field trips and stuff!”
“Yeah, it’s a simple game. Lila taught me.” Clint chimed in.
Clint, Peter, and Scott explained the rules to Sam and Wanda, having Peter and Clint play a round to demonstrate. Then, they prompted Scott to play with Wanda and Sam to play with Peter.
Then, Peter suggested they all play a group game of sticks, which got incredibly intense as their only form of entertainment until Clint had already cheated five times (but was only caught twice), Scott was on his knees in defeat, and Sam was getting intensely competitive, everyone shouting over each other through every move.
It ended with just Wanda and Peter left until Wanda won, cheering triumphantly as Peter feigned shock and despair. By the end, they were all giggling amongst themselves.
Their laughter was cut off by the door opening and the guards spilling in with their food. They noticed they had the same guards as last time, figuring they were probably assigned to each prisoner.
When they pushed the food in, Peter softly thanked his guard, and smiled when the man murmured back a ‘you’re welcome’ with a soft gaze. He had a distant, sorrowful look in his eyes, almost regretful.
They ate in silence again.
The routine continued as such for the next few days. On the fourth day, as the guards were leaving after lunch, Peter’s guard being the last to leave, Peter called out “See you later, Mr. Security Guard, sir!”
The man smiled, pausing for a moment to tell him “You can call me John. See you later, Peter.”
Peter beamed back at the man, waving. “See you later, Mr. John!”
The man huffed a laugh to himself, smiling fondly as he left the room.
None of the adults said a word to their guards, who all seemed perfectly content with the silence, though the hardened edges of Scott and Wanda’s guards seemed to soften slightly when they would hear Peter speak or catch a glimpse of him as they left. Sam and Clint’s, however, stayed stoically silent, expressions never breaking from their (mildly aggressive) blank look.
*****
It had been a week since they got thrown in this god forsaken floating hellhole. It was starting to get to all of them. They wanted to stay upbeat for Peter, assure him that they would find a way out, but their games and talks became less animated. Peter grew quieter, eyes more distant and voice a little less hopeful. They hated it.
Peter was a kid. A fourteen year old kid. He never should’ve been brought into this conflict in the first place, he shouldn’t even be a vigilante at his age, but now, instead of being off trying to work up the nerve to ask out that girl — Liz, he had told them — he liked or building a lego death star with his friend Ned, he was stuck in a tiny cell, eating mush for every meal, a dehumanizing collar taking away his abilities, and waking up nearly every night in a nightmare. All because Stark was too arrogant and short sighted and brought a kid into their fight, and because Ross was a slimy weasel of a man with no empathy or sight for anything other than his own image and desires.
They had refused medical treatment for the kid’s broken ribs, insisting that ‘it’ll heal on its own. If he aggravates it, that’s on him’, through a comm to John, who reluctantly relayed the message. Sam kept muttering about how Ross was breaking laws, but it wasn’t like they had a way to actually start a legal dispute in their position. He wouldn’t even give them a lawyer.
With each passing day, they could see John’s reluctance clearer and clearer. He seemed to really like Peter — honestly, who wouldn’t? — and clearly had at least the slightest moral decency to not like the kid being locked up here, though there wasn’t much he could do about it.
At some point, Peter started asking John questions about his life and work. John was hesitant to answer at first, but no one had stopped or punished him for sharing his name with the boy, clearly believing Peter wouldn’t ever get out to spread any information anyway, so he responded.
They learned he had a daughter a little older than Peter. He is from New York too. He introduced the other guards: Elanor, Wanda’s guard, and Mike, Scott’s guard, both offered the boy tight smiles and a small wave when the man pointed them out. Alex, Clint’s guard, didn’t move a muscle from where he was watching Clint eat when he was introduced. Melany, Sam’s guard, shot John a glare when he named her before returning her hawk-like gaze to watching Sam.
They were hopeful John, and maybe even Elanor and Mike, could prove to be allies down the line, at least for Peter. Maybe they could help get him out.
As of now, though, none of them had figured out a plan, or even how to talk about a plan with the surveillance, so they continued waiting, praying that this prison would not break the kid that shouldn’t be here.