Chapter Text
It was supposed to be an easy mission.
Get in, get out. Figure out whatever it was the Secret Empire was working on, destroy it, detain those involved, and be home in time for movie night.
Well, home was relative. The rogue Avengers had been constantly on the move since Steve’s final showdown with Tony in Siberia, never staying in any place longer than a week. It wasn’t exactly Sam Wilson’s dream life, but as much as he missed his modest flat back in D.C., at least he couldn’t complain about the company. Okay, he could complain about the company, like when Wanda played her music too loud or Natasha finished the coffee or Steve decided that just because they were no longer officially heroes, that didn’t mean that the fight was over for them.
He usually didn’t mind that last one, but on days like these, when he found himself handcuffed to a chair in a dimly lit cell, he felt he was owed a bit of griping about the strange turns his life had taken after becoming friends with one Steve Rogers.
Strange turns such as finding himself in the same prison cell as Tony Stark.
It had been months since Sam had seen Tony, walking away from his previous teammates on the Raft. Sam and Tony had never seen eye to eye on much, but Steve had seemed to trust him, and that had been good enough for Sam. Until Tony had turned his back on them on that watery prison. Until Steve had finally met up with the rest of them, bruised and battered and without his shield. Until Sam had caught Steve almost obsessively checking the burner phone he always carried with him, waiting for his former friend to swallow his damn pride and make the call.
All in all, Sam really wanted to be angry with Tony Stark, but current circumstances were making that somewhat difficult.
They had Tony restrained the same way as Sam, wrists and ankles cuffed to a metal chair that was bolted into the floor, only undone twice a day for a closely guarded bathroom break. The differences were that there was an IV drip inserted into Tony’s arm, a mask strapped tightly over the bottom half of his face, and that Tony had clearly been here a lot longer.
Tony had barely been conscious when they had first dragged Sam into the cell, only rousing when he realized who his new cellmate was. His eyes had gone wide, and he had glared at the men marshaling Sam into the room with a venom that turned to wary concern as they were left alone in the dark space.
They left Sam’s mouth uncovered, but it hardly mattered. He was at a loss for words. When he had pictured seeing Tony again, it had always featured him putting the man in his place with a few choice words about friendship and loyalty, resulting in a much deserved heartfelt apology—not to him, but to Steve.
But seeing Tony like this, battered and exhausted, the fight went out of Sam. Instead he just said, “So…you come here often?”
He was rewarded with a signature Tony Stark eye roll, but even that was some small comfort. Tony was still resisting whatever the Empire was doing to him.
“We’re going to be okay,” Sam reassured him. “Steve and Natasha and Wanda—they’ll know I’m missing by now. They’ll be looking. They’ll find us.”
Tony looked away, eyes on the ground.
“I know they’re probably not who you want to see right now,” Sam continued. “But beggars can’t be choosers and all that.”
After another few beats of silence, Sam added quietly, “We didn’t know, Tony. That they had you. We would have come sooner if we did. Or, you know, if you knew about them, you could have called.”
Tony glared at him, and some of Sam’s resentment flared back up. “You could have called any time in the past few months. He’s been waiting by that phone like a lovesick teenager, you know. So he can apologize to you. Were you too stubborn to do it or could you not find five minutes in your busy life of building weapons and helping government bureaucrats?”
There was a voice in the back of his mind telling him to stop, that now was not the time or place, but he couldn’t help himself. Everything he had held inside himself for so long was spilling out.
He couldn’t even discuss it with the other rogues. Even after everything that had happened over the Accords, Steve still refused to say or hear a bad word against Tony. Natasha grew quiet and made an excuse to leave the room if he was ever mentioned, and Wanda avoided the subject entirely, because talking about Tony reminded her of Vision, and Wanda did not want to be reminded of Vision. So Sam had let his anger fester, and now there was no stopping it.
“Did you even think about us for one second? Your team—the one who has had your back from the beginning. Even through all your bullshit, Stark, even through Ultron, Steve still insisted on giving you the benefit of the doubt and you stabbed him in the back. You drove us out of our home, and I know this is hard to picture for someone who’s never lived anywhere but in the finest luxury money could buy, but being on the run isn’t exactly the life I pictured for myself after I got out of the military. For any of us—especially Wanda, she’s barely an adult! But you know what? I’d do all of it again. For the team. For our family. Something you don’t understand, apparently.”
Sam slumped back in the chair, letting out a long breath. It was as if a dam had burst somewhere in him, and everything he had been holding back had spilled out at once. The relief and catharsis that filled him only lasted seconds though as he remembered where he was, remembered his and Tony’s situation.
“Okay,” he breathed, his temper quelling. Tony’s eyes were fixed firmly on the floor, purposely avoiding Sam. “That needed to come out. And honestly, how many chances am I going to get to tell off Tony Stark without being interrupted by at least three bird-based insults?”
The line was greeted by an enraged stare from Tony. Sam tested his restraints, trying to find a weakness. Nothing. He sighed as he leaned back in the chair. He could wait this out. Surely his teammates wouldn’t be too far away, and the Empire didn’t seem to want him dead—yet. His heart skipped a beat as he realized that meant that they were either after information, or they were keeping him alive as bait to catch the others. And from the looks of Tony, they were happy to play the long game.
“Why are you here?” Sam asked Tony, who rolled his eyes at him, unable to answer. “Yeah…okay. Blink twice when I get to it.”
Tony gave no acknowledgment that he would, but Sam continued anyway. “You were investigating the Secret Empire?”
Nothing.
“Money?”
Nothing.
“Weapons?”
Blink. Blink.
“Figures,” Sam muttered. “An Iron Man suit?”
Nothing.
“Missiles?”
Nothing.
“Arc reactor?”
Still nothing. Tony tugged at his cuffs in frustration.
“It’s okay, man. Got to pass the time somehow. It’s this or I start singing. Do you like Marvin Gaye?”
Tony tugged at the cuffs harder.
“Come on, I’m not that bad—oh. Right.” The door to the cell had finally opened. Four figures entered; two men, two women, pushing something that smelled amazing. Sam’s stomach rumbled. It had been hours since they had knocked him out of the sky and dragged him here, and whatever they were wheeling in on a metal table smelled heavenly. Poison, Sam thought. Or truth serum. Is truth serum a thing?
The men wheeled the metal table right in front of Sam. On it was a full steak dinner that looked more expensive than anything Sam had ever eaten in his life. His stomach rumbled again. Shut up. It’s a trick. Don’t touch it.
The men backed up, raising guns at him while one of the women stepped in and unlocked Sam’s wrists. He thought about making a grab for her, but the guns pointed his way stopped him.
“Look,” Sam said, looking from the dinner to the woman. She was slightly older than the others, and clearly their leader. “I appreciate the thought, I do. But I’m actually trying to do the whole plant-based diet thing, you know, better for the planet and—”
He broke off as a piercing ringing flooded his brain. He tried to twist away from it but strong hands gripped his shoulders, holding him in place as the horrible sound continued. He saw stars before it was finally switched off. The hands released him and Sam leaned forward, gasping.
“Eat it,” the leader commanded him. “All of it.”
”Does he get to eat?” Tony was thin—far too thin. Were they starving him?
Sam looked around her at Tony, looking for answers. But the engineer’s eyes were downcast, breathing hard behind the mask.
“Is it poisoned?” Sam asked bluntly. “It’s poisoned, right?”
“Eat it,” the leader threatened again, raising a small device, no doubt the source of the piercing ringing. Tony flinched when she did.
The leader looked from Sam to Tony.
“Don’t,” Sam warned her, but she was already moving behind Tony’s chair, placing the device right beside his ear. “Wait—“
But she had already pressed the button, and Tony was convulsing in pain in front of her. Muffled grunts came from behind the mask as he tried to lean as far away from the woman as he could, but she gripped his chin and forced him back.
“Alright! I’ll eat it!”
The leader let go of Tony and switched off the device. Tony's eyes were closed now, and the moment the leader let go of his chin he slumped forward in the chair, his head hanging.
Sam reached for the knife and fork on the plate, and started to eat.
Everything on the plate was delicious, and Sam hated every mouthful, hating that they were making him eat in front of someone who was clearly starving. He shoveled it down as fast as he could, just wanting to get it over with. “There,” he said when he’d finished, slamming down the knife and fork. “Happy?”
The leader smirked at him as she stepped forward to refasten the restraints around Sam's wrists. “Bring it in.”
The other woman vanished as Sam’s heart started to speed up. What now?
When she returned, and Sam saw what she was holding, he started to curse her in words that would have Steve covering Wanda's ears.
The leader looked back at Tony. “Once again, Stark, what is about to happen is your choice. Are you going to give us the formula, or not?”
Tony finally opened his eyes, looking at her in furious defiance. The leader nodded, nonplussed, and signaled to the other woman to bring over the device she was holding.
“You’re sick,” Sam snapped at her, as the woman inserted a feeding tube into Tony’s nose and forced it down his throat.
They ignored him as he continued to shout and curse at them. He had heard of force-feeding before, knew that it was often used on protestors on hunger strikes, but he had never actually seen it done in person. It was horrible to watch Tony going through it, the genius’s eyes wide with pain and panic the entire time the woman pumped food down his throat.
After minutes that felt like hours had passed, Sam switched tactics, changing from cussing out their captors to taking directly to Tony. “Stark. Tony. Look at me.”
Tony’s pained eyes found Sam’s and even past Tony’s distress, Sam could see the resolution there—the acceptance. Not the first time they'd done this to him then.
“Focus on me,” Sam told Tony, keeping his own panic out his voice. “Just focus on me, okay? It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be fine. I promise. It’s going to be okay…”
Sam didn’t stop talking until the feeding bag was empty, repeating the same mantras over and over again until they unceremoniously ripped the tube out Tony’s nose. Sam could hear Tony gagging and choking behind the mask, but the leader rubbed his back in an almost soothing way, making sure his airways were clear before nodding at the other Empire members, who packed up the tube and Sam’s plate and prepared to leave.
“Until tomorrow, Stark. You will have the same choice.”
Then they were gone from the room, leaving Sam and Tony alone once more.