Brotherly Love:

Steve was about to say what they were all thinking, but then something even stranger than Dr. Strange happened. The memory cut off and showed a distorted image, fading to white and navy colors. It reminded all three Avengers of when they'd first experienced this phenomenon of viewing memories.

"Wh - e - fuc-?" Someone said, but it was close to impossible to tell who it was.

What felt like hours went by. Seconds ticked slowly and even Natasha lost track of her mental counting. Until finally, the mist cleared and everything looked even more vivid than before. It seemed like time completely changed, but not by gradual fade like it normally would on occasion.

Their teammate still looked the same age, but he was definitely at a new location — the same bar as before. The most alarming part was the black eye Clint had, possibly from Carson. Steve clenched his fists tightly.

Clint didn't think twice about entering the bar, unlike the last time. His hood was already pulled up to shield his face from unwanted stalkers, but Barney's gang made it clear that they didn't have time for anyone else. He definitely wore his head higher — a result of his successful performances.

"What can I get you, gentlemen?" A nervous waitresses asked. Natasha had to give her credit for having the courage to do it, but noticed immediately how she felt about the task.

Jacques pulled down his cracked sunglasses and gave the waitress a look. "It's a bar. We're a load of guys wanting to get drunk off our asses. What do you think we want?"

Steve inwardly winced, especially at how Clint laughed after seeing the waitresses reaction.

The waitress nodded before scurrying off in the direction of the kitchens. She returned moments later with four jugs of beer. If the woman noticed anything off about the fact there was kid sitting there, about to drink with some older kids, she didn't say a word.

Clint pulled the glass towards him, but left it sitting on the table. Everyone else — Jacques, Barney, and Buck — took a large sip almost immediately. He bit his lip.

"Hey, Barney?" Clint asked.

Barney raised an eyebrow but didn't look at him.

"Don't you think that...that maybe you shouldn't drink—"

Everyone started laughing. Jacques spoke first, "Why would you ever want to stop?"

"Self control ain't necessarily a good thing, bro," Barney added. He looked into Clint's eyes for a hint of playfulness, but instead saw hurt. Clint covered it quickly, almost like it'd never been there to begin with.

Jacques nudged Buck with his elbow. "You've been awfully quiet. You alright?"

"Mates," he started carefully, "I've been thinkin' lately."

"About?"

Buck hesitated again, but Barney's glare told him to hurry it up. He blurted, "About education. Getting clean."

"You'd never make it, moron. Besides, if you wanted to do something other than the shit we do—" Barney replied curtly, before getting interrupted by Jacques.

"Military is the way to go." Jacques yawned, already bored with the conversation. "They give ya free food, a place to stay...an' you get to fire guns! I'd love to buy me one, but there's this thing — it's called the law."

Clint coughed. "What about the whole 'getting deployed overseas and fighting' thing? Pretty sure that's also a part of the deal, Jacques."

Barney took a sip and shrugged at his brother, taking a look at him for the first time in ages. Jacques' victorious smile wavered.

"Firing guns is still firing a gun. It doesn't matter whether it hits someone, moron-number-two." Clint felt his face turn hot on being called a moron. He also noticed how Barney stayed silent.

Instead, it was Buck who spoke up. "That's horrible! Shooting someone is different than loosing an arrow." He turned to Clint with a glint of real concern embedded in his eyes. "Hawkeye, please do not listen to them! Education is far more important!"

Clint hesitated. He thought about how grey the world really was, constantly spinning and toppling over in a haste to become one or the other; black and white. It wasn't how the world worked, but people believed what they wanted to hear. Only now, it was education or military — one or the other. Was there a right and wrong? A single color to choose? How does a right become wrong?

"You don't need school, bro." Barney scoffed and looked at his kid brother. He didn't have any concern in his eyes.

"I agree with Buck," Clint said, "education is better. It gets you jobs and money and...and...uh—"

Tony swallowed nervously. "That was not a smart move, Legolas."

Barney glared daggers at Clint. "Exactly. You don't know, because you've never been to school! How does that make you entitled to an opinion?"

"Woah, woah, woah!" Buck held up is hands.

"Shut up, safari boy! Barney said, slamming his hands on the table. People looked over and murmured among themselves, but took no action. Clint flinched violently. "You're my goddamn brother. You're supposed to take my side!"

"What if I don't wanna?" Clint snapped back. "You're the one who's been so fucking stupid lately! Barney, I've seen you drinking, smoking, and ignoring me! Who does that to there own brother? That's right — an asshole."

Barney froze. Jacques smiled with pleasure. Buck took a deep breath. Clint bit his lower lip in a flurried sense of panic.

"I- I take that back."

Barney remained still. He didn't even blink, and every second that dragged on made the pit in Clint's stomach dig itself deeper and deeper.

Suddenly, he lashed out with the bottle still in hand. It smashed into Clint's shoulder because of his poor aim (wasn't he supposed to be the Swordsman's apprentice?) and Clint felt pain shoot up his left arm. He stumbled out of the booth, but held his head high. Buck stood and covered Clint protectively.

"Stop," he commanded, his Australian accent ringing clear. "You shouldn't be fighting—"

"You're right. I should be fighting the both of you! Why are you supporting my brother, Chrisholm? Clinton shouldn't be trusted, believe me." Clint pretended his brother's words didn't hurt him, but they did.

The other people in the bar gathered around that corner, enclosing any possible exits. Clint realized he might be small enough to squeeze through someone's legs, but he wasn't stupid to believe that they'd let him out unscathed — and without a fight.

Clear to human nature, the ragtag group of truckers, teenagers, and whoever else found solitude at the bottom of a bottle, started chanting: "Fight, fight, fight! Get 'em!"

Not helping, he thought.

Buck stood up and threw a fist at Barney. He caught it and responded by grabbing Buck's wrist, trying to twist it tightly. While distracted, Buck repeated his first move and nailed Barney right in the jaw. He smirked.

Barney spit the blood from his mouth and muttered something under his breath (it sounded a lot like "Sonobitch"). He used Buck's small size against him by charging at him. He wrapped his hands tightly around Buck's throat, listening for every desperate wheeze and gasp for breath.

Clint decided it was time to spring in.

He wasn't a stranger to fights, having been in a few with drunks or watching his brother's gang get involved directly. Still, Clint didn't exactly have a game plan in mind when he leaped in and smacked his brother on the head with his bear. The glass shattered and Barney fell down onto his knees, hands holding his head in an attempt to straighten his vision.

"I bet that hurt," Steve said.

The assembled crowd roared their approval and Tony was sure he spotted someone exchanging money with another burly dude. Jacques was doing nothing but plastering a big grin on his face. He also said to the people besides him: "Barton vs Barton! Who'll top who? Draw blood, ya cowards!"

Buck shot Clint a grateful look before it turned into panic. The message was clear: get out before it gets ugly.

Clint realized that it was a little too late for that and sent Buck an annoyed face. He wasn't sure it conveyed the right message, but hoped it turned out alright. Too bad, I'm staying.

"Clinton..." Barney trailed off. "Fine — you've made this personal, yourself, so don't blame me.

Clint snorted. Natasha noticed how his nostrils flared at being called by his full name. "Blame you? How could I when your the reason we're here in the first place!"

"I made the right call. We survived and we're past that now, Hawkeye." Barney started towards his brother, and Clint backed up, afraid.  "Blame yourself for abandoning me! You never followed my lead, despite all I've done for you."

Clint felt himself collide with the row of people lined up, and they eagerly pushed him back into the fray. Shit. He admired how Barney had so much ready to say about the topic. Maybe he'd been thinking this for awhile. Hawkeye cursed himself.

"Charles," Clint said, taking another risk by dropping his brother's favored nickname, "if you had to blame someone, then—"

Barney cut him off punching him. Clint saw stars and felt his knees give out as his brother kicked him. Hard. He wanted to scream — the stupid people watching but not helping, Jacques for just standing there, Buck's pitying look at Clint and always thinking he was incapable of protecting himself, and stupid stupid Barney. Charles, Clint corrected.

He wasn't his brother anymore. Although Clint wondered if he ever had been.

Money was exchanged between hands. Buck said something else to Barney, and they soon were engaged in another fistfight. Hawkeye was grateful for the distraction, for his brother kept kicking at his head and causing the stars to multiply. Clint didn't hear anything over the crowd and the constant ringing in his ears.

Before he lost consciousness and gave into the calling sensation of darkness, Clint realized with a start that: this was the first time he returned a fight. He liked the feeling it gave him, reminiscent of the first time Hawkeye had used his bow; the very same spark was just reignited.