They plant flowers all along the boundary of the Red Skull’s – or rather, Schmidt’s – cell. (It was Tony’s idea. He’s still pissed off about the thousands of baby treasure-drones that met their death at his hands.
Sif promises him that the treasure-drones will find their rightful places in Valhalla as Tony sniffles self-righteously into her shoulder.
Steve thinks this is all rather over-dramatic.)
They’re red, white, and blue, arranged to resemble the pattern on Steve’s shield. For maximum fuckery, in Tony’s terms. Tony is a bit of an asshole. Bucky won’t say it out loud, but he’s impressed.
*
“Where does he keep getting these guns?” Sam asks, fascinated. “We keep disarming him and nothing, he just keeps on pulling them out.”
“Hell if I know,” Bucky shrugs. “If they gave me a weapon, I didn’t ask questions. Heck, he probably has a pocket dimension of these things or something.”
In his cell, Schmidt is – once again – firing a gun at the bulletproof glass wall. They track the path of the bullet as it ricochets off the walls, before finally bouncing to a stop at his feet.
Schmidt roars. Bucky flinches away from the surveillance panel.
“Do you think we might get lucky and he’ll shoot himself?”
“Even if he does, he has a version of the super-serum in his blood,” Steve points out, crossing the room to lay a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “He’ll probably heal before he bleeds out.”
“Darn.”
Schmidt finally seems to lose it – he throws his gun at a wall, and turns away from it in a huff, crossing his arms as the pistol clatters noisily to the ground.
“Don’t guns usually misfire when you do that?”
“Fuck if I know,” Tony mutters, striding across the room to press the little red button labelled ‘knock-out gas’. “Alright, who’s on gun-removal duty today?”