Remind me to never to chapter titles in my next fanfic. They're a pain in the a-

"Why the hell is a fucking 10 year old heading into a bar?" Natasha asked to no one in particular. Steve chuckled despite the situation they were in, and the one they were currently watching unfold.

Tony snorted. "Barton's leaving the nest-- wants to get drunk like the rest of us."

It was actually true, Clint was walking down the sidewalk over to a bar. A bar where alcohol is brewed and served to all customers. The place had a large wooden door that looked like it could collapse at any minute. Walls were stained wood with the occasional mix of stonework, mostly limestone, and pieces of it were chipping off and falling upon what little greenery there was.

The only thing that really stood out amidst the brown and grey and green streaks of colors was the neon sign above the door. The bright blue-green sign was nearly impossible to read, but it still drew in enough customers to keep running. Outside the front window, a small table sat with a cigarette ash tray.

"Smoking and drinking?" Tony teased. "Sounds like he's about to have a fun time, isn't he? I wish I could join..."

"Yeah, like that's a good idea."

"Shut up, Steve. I don't remember asking for your opinion." Steve rubbed his furrowed brow, and Tony smirked with his knowledge of triumph.

The sun was lowering across the sky at a slow rate. Clouds soon became more and more visible with the sky darkening into a cold and shallow night. As the summer dragged on, day by day, the temperatures did almost nothing to decrease during the middle of a day.

Clint strode to the front door, whistling a tune as he went. Even though he probably shouldn't go inside, the sign didn't stop him. But then again, Natasha, Tony, and Steve hadn't seen their teammate go to school in awhile. Could Clint even read?

The door was a little heavy, especially with the thick wooden planks and Clint's scrawny arms, but it still swung open relatively easy. Loud music erupted out, filling the silence with something more than the dull evening cricket chirps. A nearby cricket decided to prove the point by chirping, and somehow Clint heard it over the music.

Clint easily recognized the rock music. He'd heard it several times before despite only releasing earlier this year. Barney seemed to love it, although his brother didn't care much for it. Barney'd told him that it was only a matter of time before he appreciated 'real music' and not the lullabies their mother had occasionally sung to them.

Immediately inside and to the left of the door mat sat a flat rustic table. Scrape markings were on the spruce floors, and Clint knew it meant that chairs had been dragged across the room else where. A long bar table, the main attraction, was directly in front of him. A bartender was there chatting idly with another customer who Clint didn't recognize.

The boy pulled his jacket hood up, starting to regret coming here and wanting to keep a low profile. He also glanced down at his trainers and made sure the laces were tied properly, in case Clint had to leave in a hurry. You could never be too careful, he told himself over and over again.

The loudest conversation could be heard over the song. It was now fading out, having reached the end, and soon another would start replaying. Clint looked around frantically, feeling more claustrophobic with every second he spent stumbling about in this dust-filled environment.

In the corner booth, his brother sat beside Jacques, Buck Crisholm, and Zachary.

At least a dozen bottles of alcohol, whether it was beer or something else equally as bad, Clint didn't know. He watched as Jacques drained the drink in front of him and reached for another, his hand meeting Barney's as he handed Jacques one more drink.

Buck laughed at something Zachary said. "Bloody hell, you might've broke your nose doin' shit like that!" His Australian accent was easily heard, although sometimes it sounded more like an American southerner. Probably from all the traveling he'd done over the years.

"Oo, he's Australian!" Tony mocked in an awful attempt at replicating the accent.

Buck Crisholm was one of the biggest roustabouts in the circus-- meaning he did literally nothing, sort of like what Clint used to do. He cleaned, worked the front gates, was one of the usual carnies prepping food and drink. Oh, and he drank a lot too.

Clint ran over. "Barney!"

Barney grimaced, but changed it into a smile that looked way too fake to be real. "Heya, brother."

"What are you doing 'ere?" Clint asked. He ignored Buck and Zachary and Jacques' snickering. "You're not actually drinking that stuff, are you?"

"Well-" Fortunately for Barney, Buck swooped in.

"Ya brother's fine! Relax for once, lil' Barton!" Barney nodded to solidify his friend's point. Jacques coughed and sat back in the booth, his weird toothless smile plastering his face.

Clint blinked, but didn't say another word. It wasn't his business, and Barney'd know what he was doing, right? "But you said... nevermind."

"Trust me, Clint."

"Said what now?" Buck piped up. Or all of them-it was a little hard to tell with how similar they all were. "C'mon, laddie." He lowered his voice. "Shouldn't keep things to yourself."

"These guys are dumb, aren't they?" Tony asked.

Natasha and Steve both rolled their eyes. "And I thought I was the captain, Captain Obvious."

Jacques shared a look with the other two. "Tryna get a sip, yeah? Can't fool us, but 'm all for it." Barney suddenly became really interested with his shoes, but didn't object.

Buck scooted over, closer to the middle of their booth and to Barney. Patting the seat next to him, Clint slid in and grasped a bottle of beer firmly in his hands.

The glass was cool to the touch, likely being a recent order from the bar's kitchen. A peeling label was so faded, he couldn't actually read what it said. Although, his reading skills were...irrelevant. The liquid inside had a few bubbles at the top, the yellow-muddy hue looking similar in color to Clint's hair.

Then it moved towards his lips. Clint could feel the tangy taste swirling around his stomach. It was both cold and warm as it traveled down his throat. He resisted the urge to gag, but the churning in his stomach didn't make it an easy task.

Clint finally gave in and gagged, making a horrendous noise in the process. The other three laughed while he spit the liquid all out. Well, now the beer sat on the table, minus its bottle.

"First time, Barton?" Zachary wasn't sure which brother he was talking to, but maybe both. "Nevermind. I can tell."

Natasha muttered a curse in Russian, and both her teammates took a few steps back.