Chapter Text
The Raft. An underwater prison meant for supervillains. Honestly? Clint thought he kind of deserved this. It was a fitting punishment for all the things he had done under Loki's control, for all the people he killed. He was a murderer and deserved to be locked up for his crimes. The others, though? They didn't deserve to be in here. Wanda, Scott and Sam were heroes, they shouldn't be in here. His eyes flicked up to watch Wanda. A flare of anger spiked through him as his eyes rested on her collar. Clint's blue-grey eyes moved over her body, methodically searching her. Most of her injuries were healed, just a few cuts and scratches on her face.
Clint wasn't sure exactly what was stopping her from breaking out. She was the only one of them that had superpowers and she was one of the strongest, if not the strongest mutant he had ever seen. The assassin had nailed it down to three things:
1) The blue straight jacket that stopped her moving her hands. From what he had seen of her powers, she had always used her hands. Maybe now that she was unable to move her hands she couldn't use her powers to escape.
2) The collar around her neck. He could see the red lights on the side and he had wondered what exactly the collar did to her. His mind continually switched from it being a shock collar to it being some sort of collar that depowered her. He had heard rumours of them existing on a mission and had dove into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files afterwards to see what information the agency had collected on them. Whilst the number of files was minimal, the information on them suggested that these collars, if not already created, were close to being finalised.
3) She simply didn't want to break out. It had been less than six months since Sokovia and her brother's death and only a week since the mission with Captain America and Natasha that had gone disastrously wrong. Her attempt to protect the people in the market by containing Rumlow's explosion and sending it up away from the crowd had resulted in it erupting, too much for her powers to handle, next to an office building. The blast had killed forty innocent civilians. Clint had read her file and knew she had been experimented on whilst she had been with Hydra; suddenly being back in a prison/cage environment after being free for a few months had probably put her in a shocked-dazed headset.
He remembered when he had first encountered her and had tased her to stop her messing with his mind. She had been out for a little while after that and had been less powerful fighting for the last few minutes of the conflict. The archer guessed she was probably more powerful alert and awake. The way she kept on looking almost brain dead, made Clint think there may be a fourth reason: they were sedating her. With her being less alert, as with anyone else, she would be much easier to control and imprison.
Clint stood and walked to the bars, pushing his body into them as much as possible as he peered out. His hands rested on the vertical bars running from the ceiling to the floor. Behind the bar was a 5-inch sheet of bulletproof glass that General Ross had been more than happy to tell him about. Several times. Absentmindedly, Clint tapped his fingers on the bars of metal, knowing they were reinforced titanium alloy bars, possibly with a vibranium metal rod running through the core. Even Cap would have a hard time bending them. When Wanda didn't raise her head and catch his eyes, he swept them across the room.
The cell next to Wanda was empty, the one next to that one, which was in the centre, held Sam and finally Scott on the cell to the left of his. Clint wasn't sure if they had deliberately put them like that to hinder him- Sam and Scott were all strategically placed so Clint couldn't see them well or at all. No matter where Clint stood in his cell or how he twisted his body, he couldn't see Scott, the man remaining in his blind spot at all times. It left Clint on edge, he hated having blind spots or friends in said blind spots as he couldn't keep an eye on them or come to their aid if they were in danger. He could only see Sam if he stood in the right half of his cell and Sam in the left half of his cell. Wanda was the only who he could see easily and freely as her cell was directly in front of his.
He wondered briefly if this arrangement was to stop him or if it was to keep them away from Wanda. As much as he wanted to think it was for him, and that they did consider him a threat, he knew in his gut it was for Wanda. Wanda was their main concern because she was the strongest one and could easily escape if at full power. They had made sure that she wouldn't have any help by keeping them as far away as possible from her. No one had paid much attention to him. The Raft agents had paid Sam a bit more attention than him as they knew that he was closer to Steve than Clint was. Even Scott, the one with the least amount of training, had had more attention as the guards knew he could shrink or grow and so had the possibility to escape. Clint wasn't sure if he should be happy with his stupid, reclusive facade. On one hand, it meant they left him alone and were less guarded around him which gave him a better chance to escape. But, on the other hand, he had to watch as Sam and Scott were dragged off to be interrogated and came back with more bruises, especially Sam. The hatred he felt for Ross just grew each day. The man obviously didn't care about human rights.
Being underwater meant that it was hard to keep track of time; the room he was in didn't allow any natural light to come in so Clint didn't have any markers to tell him what time of day it was. Luckily for him, he was pretty good at judging time, a skill he had even before S.H.I.E.L.D. and being a sniper. Although not 100% certain, he guessed they had been in the Raft for at least five days. The blond male sighed and sat down on his cot, head falling back to hit the metal wall. Clint knew the importance of keeping morale. This dreary room where nothing changed, the bad food, the beatings and interrogations, the inability to keep track of time, he knew they were all mild torture techniques specific in breaking someone's spirit. Clint knew that once their spirit was broken, it was basically over for them. Luckily for him, he was pretty resilient to them, having been through them several times as an agent. It also helped that he knew what they were doing.
His eyes roamed over the ceiling as he once again searched for something. Nothing jumped out at him. He had done several thorough searches of his cell when he had been placed in it and knew it was redundant. Still, the agent kept doing it. A mechanical whirl took his attention away from the ceiling. A panel on the floor slid open and another panel rose up from the gap. On it was a tray of food. Well, the tray wasn't on it, it was it. They had designed it so no one could take the tray and use it as a weapon. Clint moved to the tray and grabbed the sandwiches, sticks of carrots and the handful of crisps. He also grabbed the plastic cup that had water in it and moved back to his bed.
A minute later, the tray lowered and the panel slid back to cover the hole. Clint picked the sandwich apart, sniffing bits of the bread and nibbling small bits of it. He sniffed the carrots but didn't eat them and moved to the crisps, eating a few of them. He couldn't smell or taste any poisons but he knew many that were odourless and tasteless. Clint didn't even look at the water, throwing it down the toilet. There was an even greater chance that it had been spiked as it was easier to drug liquids than food. Clint ate every other day, not trusting the Raft's cooks not to spike his food with a truth serum or something even worse Eating small amounts of food meant that there would be fewer drugs in his system which made it easier for him to think and lie when interrogated plus it allowed him to build up an immunity to the drugs. Clint could hear the others eating the food and sighed. They would be bad agents if they ever decided to become one.
A few hours later and the lights dimmed, the only indicator as to what time of day it was. It was a signal for them to go to bed. The others moved around then quietened. Clint stayed where he was for a while, his spy instincts not letting him fall asleep. He had been there for 5 days. Most places operated on a weekly basis so he still had two days to observe if they did anything different such as a change of guards, not that he would really be able to see anything from his cell. Nothing had changed in the five days he had been there, the guards who pulled him out of his cell all seemed to be the same each time he was taken to be interrogated. His head lolled to the side and he stared out at Wanda.
"You should sleep, Wanda," he advised. Wanda didn't make any sign that she had heard him. Clint sighed and laid on his bed, following his own advice. The archer closed his eyes and let himself drift off, deciding he would sleep for an hour then wake up and observe if they changed their pattern for two hours then fall asleep for another hour, repeating the cycle until morning. Compared to some prisons, it wasn't too bad. They hadn't deprived them of sleep yet, but Clint knew eventually it would happen. Then they would be in trouble.