Spoilers for CACW

You see, when you get locked up, you still think you did the right thing. There aren't newspapers or televisions provided where you can watch the media crucify you –although Clint highly doubted any media outlet knew what had become of Hawkeye, Falcon, Scarlet Witch and Ant Man. It was easy to forget when you were locked up in the middle of the ocean, twenty thousand feet below surface, that you were the bad guy. Once upon a very long time ago, Clint had been a mercenary. He had been on the wrong side of the law. He knew what to expect. He'd just forgotten in the last twenty years or so, exactly what it felt like. The baton driving into his chest and the boot to his face brought the memories back with startling clarity though.

Clint hummed under his breath, eyes shut and hands behind his head. He could hear Scott start to pick up the beat, tapping on his stool. Wanda hadn't said anything in hours or days. He'd tried getting her to talk, but she wasn't. Damn Tony for putting them in a place like this. For putting her here, and damn the government for getting them in this mess. Sam hadn't said much since Tony had shown up –but Clint had heard him having a panic attack afterwards. Clint glanced over when he registered movement at the cell bars, a guard walking by, baton smacking against the bars, a warning. Clint sat up, measuring the guard's movements, singing louder. It wasn't like he was planning an escape. That would be impossible, even for the most bastardly of prisoners held here. But he couldn't help it. He wanted a reaction. He wanted a fight.

The Raft was the place where they kept the worst of the worst cooped up. The Abomination was stored here, for Christ's sake. What did that say about them? They hadn't killed anyone. They hadn't murdered or stolen anything. Standing against the government, standing for what was right was what got them here? Clint glared at the wall, belting out the lyrics. He wasn't going to stop. They'd have to make him. And if they made him –if they did something like that, well, he wasn't sure what next. Because if they used force to make him comply, they were no better than Hydra. They were no better than any other low-level scum out there. The baton slammed against the bars more firmly and Clint definitely caught a glare that time around.

"Hangman is comin' down from the gallows and I don't have very long," he sang hoarsely, watching in satisfaction as the guard clamped his hands over his ears. "The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me, the renegade who had it made. Retrieved for a bounty."

Sam was tapping his foot in time to the beat. Scott was still tapping out the beat on his stool. Clint cleared his throat and went to sing the chorus. The guard slammed his baton against the metal bars and Clint's cell was opened. Clint managed a cheeky grin.

"Hey piggy piggy, want to play?"

Clint wasn't a bad guy. Clint was an unarmed prisoner. The guard was wearing full out SWAT gear, including a body shield. Even if Clint had a projectile what would it do against that? And what was the guard going to do in a place with three other witnesses?

"Shut your mouth Barton, or I will shut it for you," growled the guard.

Clint smirked, dark and dangerous and unforgiving. "I'd like to see you try."

The guard shook his head and advanced into his cell. Clint heard Sam's outraged shout, but by then it was too late. Clint wasn't about to go down without a fight. He swung wide, intentionally missing the guard entirely. He was wondering who was under the helmet –some punk ass kid or somebody that had been on the job for fifteen years when the baton slammed into his gut and drove the air out of his lungs. He dropped like a sack, moving to protect his head on instinct, curling up to protect his ribs. But the guard knew what he was doing. He hit non-lethally. Clint struck out with his foot, driving it against the guard's knee before he was leaping to his feet. But the cameras were on and no one cared. Criminals deserved to be beaten, to be roughed up.

The Taser came from the ceiling and struck him in the middle of the back before he was even fully standing. He collapsed, limbs spasming and twitching involuntarily, leaving him defenseless. Two quick kicks to his side and Clint couldn't see straight anymore. When the toe of the guard's boot swung out and caught him in the side of the head, everything went black.

Clint wasn't sure how much later it was when consciousness returned, but he was lying on the floor of his cell and his ears were ringing. He got up onto his knees and wobbled precariously, throwing his arm out to catch himself as he stood up. The world seemed to spin and he let himself fall rather than fight against it. He could just see Sam watching in concern from his cell but he couldn't bring himself to respond. He laid back down and willed his stomach to stop trying to upend its contents.

It would be days before the ringing stopped and the nausea settled.