![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Oct. 16th, 2018 08:25 pm[ The cell that Robbie woke up in is small and made smaller by the tangled metal and detritus that used to be a cot, bedclothes, and a toilet.
The cell itself is still solid. It was just everything else he’d managed to wreck. The broken off pipe was now dousing everything below hip height with water. Annoyance and anger at Deadpool washes away, the space left behind stayed empty and bleak.
Prepared for a fight? Sure, it fits with what he knows about Deadpool. Prepared with a cell that can contain Robbie when he’s unconcerned with property damage? From the stories he’s heard, the guy isn’t really all there, and this sort of cohesive planning takes coherent thought.
In other words, confirmed: Deadpool was totally working with these jack-booted thugs. He would have rather it been that Deadpool snapped and attacked the first costume he saw. I was better than that at 15, he thought to himself as his feet shoved aside some of the mess to make room around him.
He could hear them coming, through the tray slot at the bottom of the reinforced door. Footprints and what might be German, but his little outburst hadn’t merited an alarm.
To bother with him, they want one of two things: his friends and the connections they had, or a pet weapon. They were never getting his friends, he promises himself as he slides down the wall into a crouch. Robbie drapes his arms over his knees and stares at the blank wall. He knows what Hydra does to people, and he can’t let himself be a liability. He has to get into a safe mindset, where what happens to him doesn’t matter.
He could do this - he did it for over a year. Focus on what hurts the most, and he’ll barely notice whatever happens here. If he gives them nothing, absolutely nothing, maybe they’ll slip up if they’re operating on old reports on him.
Even if Doc helped Robbie stop wanting to be disconnected, right now, it is what he needs to be. He stares and thinks of Stamford. The pictures, the footage, the names, the bodies.
The noise falls away against the onslaught of audio snippets that run roughshod through his mind. Years of news reports, court proceedings, comments from other heroes, his parents, their parents. Shit.
He doesn’t move when the square metal hatch at eye level scrapes open. ]
Mister. [ The voice does something between a sniff and a sigh. ] Baldwin. You will not be getting a new bed.
[ Even with the small door open in the larger one, Robbie isn’t catching more than every fourth syllable. His eyes are out of focus and glazed, his face expressionless. ]
- five minutes, bring him to the interrogation room and then clean this up before he’s brought back.
[ The square slams shut, and the noise makes him blink instinctively, yanks him out of himself. That... worked too well for him to be comfortable with the knowledge that the worst of his bad habits, issues, and hangups are waiting just there waiting for him to throw himself back into the oubliette.
He has to get out of here, but he tried - gave it everything he had, and he doesn’t have enough power docked for a second attempt.
Without taking his eyes off the wall, Robbie picks up a twisted scrap of stainless steel and tries to decide if its worth it. He skims his fingers over it, finding a sharp curl of metal where it twisted off the bed frame. There’s no one here to judge him for it. And yet...
They’ll probably give him more than enough pain to go by - but do they know how his powers work? ]
The cell itself is still solid. It was just everything else he’d managed to wreck. The broken off pipe was now dousing everything below hip height with water. Annoyance and anger at Deadpool washes away, the space left behind stayed empty and bleak.
Prepared for a fight? Sure, it fits with what he knows about Deadpool. Prepared with a cell that can contain Robbie when he’s unconcerned with property damage? From the stories he’s heard, the guy isn’t really all there, and this sort of cohesive planning takes coherent thought.
In other words, confirmed: Deadpool was totally working with these jack-booted thugs. He would have rather it been that Deadpool snapped and attacked the first costume he saw. I was better than that at 15, he thought to himself as his feet shoved aside some of the mess to make room around him.
He could hear them coming, through the tray slot at the bottom of the reinforced door. Footprints and what might be German, but his little outburst hadn’t merited an alarm.
To bother with him, they want one of two things: his friends and the connections they had, or a pet weapon. They were never getting his friends, he promises himself as he slides down the wall into a crouch. Robbie drapes his arms over his knees and stares at the blank wall. He knows what Hydra does to people, and he can’t let himself be a liability. He has to get into a safe mindset, where what happens to him doesn’t matter.
He could do this - he did it for over a year. Focus on what hurts the most, and he’ll barely notice whatever happens here. If he gives them nothing, absolutely nothing, maybe they’ll slip up if they’re operating on old reports on him.
Even if Doc helped Robbie stop wanting to be disconnected, right now, it is what he needs to be. He stares and thinks of Stamford. The pictures, the footage, the names, the bodies.
The noise falls away against the onslaught of audio snippets that run roughshod through his mind. Years of news reports, court proceedings, comments from other heroes, his parents, their parents. Shit.
He doesn’t move when the square metal hatch at eye level scrapes open. ]
Mister. [ The voice does something between a sniff and a sigh. ] Baldwin. You will not be getting a new bed.
[ Even with the small door open in the larger one, Robbie isn’t catching more than every fourth syllable. His eyes are out of focus and glazed, his face expressionless. ]
- five minutes, bring him to the interrogation room and then clean this up before he’s brought back.
[ The square slams shut, and the noise makes him blink instinctively, yanks him out of himself. That... worked too well for him to be comfortable with the knowledge that the worst of his bad habits, issues, and hangups are waiting just there waiting for him to throw himself back into the oubliette.
He has to get out of here, but he tried - gave it everything he had, and he doesn’t have enough power docked for a second attempt.
Without taking his eyes off the wall, Robbie picks up a twisted scrap of stainless steel and tries to decide if its worth it. He skims his fingers over it, finding a sharp curl of metal where it twisted off the bed frame. There’s no one here to judge him for it. And yet...
They’ll probably give him more than enough pain to go by - but do they know how his powers work? ]
