"What the hell did you do to him?" Fury asked, eyebrow raised as he started at the older man sitting in the interrogation room. Stanford was muttering to himself, looking around like he was trying to figure out where he was.
"Well, he was trying to give himself a concussion. We sedated him. For his own safety, director." Clint replied, and Fury sighed.
"Just get on with it, Michaels. We'll be back when you've gotten him to answer." Fury turned his unimpressed gaze to a younger agent who whipped to attention at the sound of his name.
"Okay, Director Fury. I won't let you down!" Michaels said seriously, grabbing his file and rushing into the room.
"For your own sake I hope you don't." Fury replied with a snort, and walked the other way with a dramatic turn.
"Alright, Cap. I brought cards so we can play in the surveillance room." Clint said, and followed up with, "Poker or blackjack?"
Ford stared at the pictures on the table in front of him. His mind was screaming at him "No, bad, get away!" But he couldn't get away. He was trapped to the chair.
"Explain this." The man said, taking a picture of Bill and shoving it right in Ford's face. Ford flinched away, a small whine building in his throat as he looked everywhere other than the picture.
"No? How about this?" The man asked, sounding mad. He picked up a picture of the Fearamid, and Ford froze. He didn't like this at all. He didn't want to think about this. He didn't like this man.
"No. Go 'way." Ford muttered, and now the man looked completely pissed.
"Look here, you six-fingered freak. You are never, ever going to leave here. You're never going to see Stanley again. Unless you answer my questions, I'll make your life here hell." The man snarled, and Ford gave a weak growl back. His mind just wasn't where it was supposed to be.
"Dick." Ford mumbled, and that was the straw that broke the camel's back.
The man threw the pictures off the table in frustration and began slapping and punching Ford. "You fucking retard! Simple fucking questions!" He yelled, and Ford couldn't even bring his hands up to block the blows as they were handcuffed.
"'M sorry." Ford whimpered, over and over until the man finally stopped.
"Alright, let's try that again." The man picked up the picture of Bill once more.
"Explain." Ford stared at the table, before quietly saying, "Bill. He's sa d'mon."
His face hurt and his stomach hurt and his head was so fuzzy. His hands were starting to lose feeling.
"A demon? Tell me more."
"He c'n t'ke over people. Craaafty. Sm'rt. Hee's ded now." Ford broke off, mumbling something about mindscapes.
"Pay attention. Next picture. Who's he?"
Ford barely glanced at the photo before deciding he wanted out. "St'p it! I dn't wanna see dis anymore." He slurred, tugging at the restrains on his wrists. It was like Bill all over again. He could feel the voltage. The electricity ran through him. He screamed until his throat was raw.
"No, no...lemme go! No m're!" Ford screamed, half delusional. He could feel the collar around his neck. The cuffs tight around his wrists and ankles. Blue lightning. Pain.
The guy was slapping him angrily and Ford flinched away just as more people burst in. Suddenly, his wrists were released and Ford sprang out of the chair, taking a few stumbling steps towards the door. He was pinned were trying to kill him and he couldn't even fight back. Ford screamed until his throat was raw and then he screamed some more. They barked orders, yelling, "Stark, come fix this!"
They were probably trying to fix his hands. His freak, mutant hands. "'M f'ne. My h'ds are f'ne!" He screeched, all of it like a huge, horrible nightmare. Finally he just passed out, world spinning as it went black.
"Should he be doing that?" Steve asked, looking up from his cards to the monitor. Clint barely glanced up, then frowned.
"Turn up the volume." He said, and as Steve did he heard Stanford screaming at the top of his lungs. It was a scream full of pain and desperation as Michaels growled and began slapping the older man.
"What the fuck." Clint got to his feet, leaving his cards on the table as he made his way back to the room, with Steve following.
He quickly opened the door, using the button by the door to unlock Stanford's cuffs. The man's face was red and swollen and he had a black eye. Stanford stumbled out of the chair, taking a few steps towards the door before Michaels tackled him.
"This is my interrogation! I'll do it as I see fit." Michaels spat at Clint, and Clint narrowed his eyes.
"He's obviously sick, Michaels. As your superior, I'm telling you to take a break." Clint growled back.
"Whatever. I'm telling Fury, though. He's not going to be mad at me for your stupidity." Michaels said, and left the room.
Steve rushed over to where Stanford was still laying and placed a hand on his forehead. "Did Stark say anything about side effects with the drugs? I think he's hallucinating."
"Fucking hell." Clint snarled, pulling out his phone and trying to ignore Stanford's screams. "Stark, come fix this!"
Stanford screeched something that was so slurred and jumbled that Clint couldn't even understand it.
"What is that awful noise?" Tony asked, and Clint growled out,
"Stanford. Your drug has some unfortunate side effects."
"It-"
Clint cut Tony off saying, "Just because it worked on Banner doesn't mean it'll work on everyone. Bruce has a different metabolism and immune system than most humans."
There was a brief silence and Clint looked over his shoulder. Stanford had passed out.
"Alright, I'm coming. Well, Bruce and I. We'll be there soon."