The autumn that hit us was chilling, and the harvest we reaped wasn't as abundant as previous years; probably because my father input no time whatsoever into maintaining our farm.

And after an autumn of oranges, browns and golds, the trees went bare and our town became treacherous with snow. The weather swept down from Canada, harsh gales, a thick covering of snow and a sub-zero temperature. Most days we struggled to open the door to the porch because the snow had built up in a shelf against it, which effectively worked as a barricade.

Travelling to and from school because arduous, trudging through the white sludge up to my mid-calve and sitting in freezing classrooms. Typically, our school central heating was broken in the least hospitable season.

Maintaining a farm with fields and livestock is particularly hard in the snow; hoping that your ploughed and sewn fields are swept away to mush as the snow melts and dislodges the sloping soil, hoping that the animals cooped up in the barn don't shiver to death.

We fell on hard times. We had hardly enough meat to fund the butchers and our cornfields hadn't flourished as we hoped, so our stockpile was dwindling. We'd have to huddle around the fireplace instead of putting on the heating, we'd rely on the heat spreading through the house in a hope to keep it warm.

But as Thanksgiving sailed on the horizon, tragedy struck. I bet you thought my life couldn't get any worse?

I thought so too.

Since it was Thanksgiving, Barney had returned home. He babysat me whilst my ma', and my dad - moderately drunk as apposed to roaringly - set off in the car to pick up the bird we were going to roast for dinner the next day. My father drove, swerving out of the drive in his scrap-heap he called a pick up truck, in the dark and the snow. The turkey farm was a short distance from our house, Waverly is a small town you remember, but all that considered, the drive was still going to take longer due to the icy conditions.

I'd snuggled up to Barney on the sofa, a thousand blankets piled on me to cease the shivering, with the fire crackling in the corner, shadows dancing on the wall. I idly watched trash television with him, the reception poor and the screen crossed with static in the blizzard conditions.

All the while, I had one eye on the snow illuminated in the window, vast clumps raining from the heavens in vast gusts of wind.

"When will ma' be back?" I'd pestered after ten minutes had gone by, looking up to Barney to watch the syllables his lips shaped.

"Not long, Clint. Y'gotta remember the roads are bad," he responded, ruffling my hair, eyes glued to the television screen.

Then another five minutes ticked by and I asked Barney again, but he couldn't give me a straight answer.

I listened to the whistling wind for the idiosyncratic screech of tyres and the crunch of the handbrake, but it didn't come. And slowly my eyes began to droop, the warmth relaxing me, and curled into my brother's side, I fell asleep.

I was awoken by flashing lights, red and blue, bright even with my eyes shut. My eyes still sticky and weighty, I peered around and saw a haze of colours in our driveway, and as I blinked, the obscured mass of primary colours drew into focus.

I saw a small gaggle of cops chattering around a car, solemn looks on their face; then finally one broke away from the pack and took the walk to the door. There must've been a knock, because Barney jolted awake and writhed to untangle from the nest of blankets and staggered in his sleep-stained daze to the door.

I wriggled free of my blanket cocoon and stepped onto the cool floorboards and padded to the door behind him like a loyal and domesticated pet.

"Barton residence?" The policeman asked, removing his hat from his head and clasping it politely before him.

My big brother nodded and forced a smile, but worry lit his eyes. That's when I realised something was really wrong: Barney looked scared for the first time in his life.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your parents were in a car accident out on the brink of the town. They crashed into a tree. We found the details of your residence in glovebox..." The policeman spoke slowly, managing how he spoke; trying to be impartial to the fact he was breaking world-changing news to two young people.

"Where are they, are they okay?!" Barney barked hysterically.

"Son, I'm sorry... You're mom and dad died."

Be careful what you wish for.

That's when my world really collapsed. That's when everything fell through. From then on, Barney was weighed down with custody of me; his early adult years of freedom and partying cut short by one stupid accident.

The funeral was dismal, hardly anyone attended. My father did nothing but stay in the pub and then get chucked out of the pub; so none of his nonexistent friends arrived. I'm surprised none of the pub goers came just to spit on his grave. My ma' was always locked away in the house, trying to keep the farm functioning and the household in order so she had no friends attending.

Barney apparently invited some distant relatives, but I didn't recognise a single one.

The Bishops attended, sans Kate's elusive dad; they left hefty bouquets of flowers at the headstones after the coffins had been lowered six feet under, and then it was up to us to read eulogies because the ones said distant relatives prepared hardly did justice to my family.

The wake was even more dismal, far fewer people lingered to pay their respects to the photographs. The ones who did stayed briefly, and we were left out of pocket and without consolation.

In the coming months, it was the guilt that plagued me more than anything. It kept me awake at night, it stopped me eating at mealtimes, it haunted me whenever I had a free moment to ponder. I wanted my father dead. I hated him. I hated him more than I'd ever hated anything in my life. It was his stupidity that finally put him in the ground, but he was selfish enough to drag my ma' with him. That's when the bargaining kicked in; the "what if"s and the "maybe"s. I couldn't dwell on what could've been - it just makes you frustrated and upset because you cannot change it; no matter how hard you try.

But that didn't change the fact I wanted my ma' back, and I wanted to live an ordinary life. Even with the abuse finally eradicated from my life, it wasn't perfect or normal. I was the sad sobbing orphan at the back of the classroom, I was the poor boy who worked the butchers shop alone, I was the one who lived with only my brother.

School work became even more of a chore. The second I was out of those school gates, it was my duty to return immediately home to the farm that Barney had now inherited and do my bit to keep our business afloat. But as you can imagine, trying to look after the farm in a harsh winter went poorly. We barely scraped enough money to pay the mortgage and other varied debts our parents had left to us, and then there were the meagre meals, just big enough to keep us going.

"How come you never come over anymore?" Kate asked on a tepid day in spring, when the plants were just starting to sprout through the mud.

"The farm, I have to run it. I can't leave Barney to do it all by himself..." I replied casually, dawdling in the general direction of home. "Not now ma' and..." My voice died in my throat as I tried to fathom the words to explain the predicament without being stung by heartache.

"You don't have to-" I cut her off with the wave of a hand and inhaled a shuddering breath to compose myself.

"I'm sorry, Katie..." I breathed out a shaky breath and tilted my head up so that gravity forced the tears back into my eyes. "I'm alright, I just still find it hard to..." My voice cracked. "Talk about it."

In her pity, she didn't even react to the nickname that agitated her like nothing else. "I just wanted to spend some time with you before I go on vacation for Spring Break, that's all..." Kate detailed. "Sorry for bothering you about it," she said sweetly, her hand interlocking with mine a giving a quick squeeze.

"Spring Break..." I sighed, it was in a couple weeks. That meant endless hours spent on the farm in passing showers. "Where are you going?" I asked, turned to her, trying to pretend I was interested, but my mind was fixated on the unpleasant thought of the tireless upcoming labour.

"New York City, to see my dad," Kate explained, smiling. "It's not that exciting to be honest, just concrete, pollution and lots of people - but it'll be nice to see him, I haven't seen him since Christmas."

She'd held my interest. "Kate, I'd kill to go anywhere on holiday; but my family has just never had the money," I ranted, she was so blind to her wealth sometimes. "I've never been out of state! Count yourself lucky. And from what I've heard, New York City is amazing - you know - the Empire State, the Statue of Liberty, Brooklyn Bridge-"

"Yeah, but, you see it once, and you've seen it. And it's not that impressive. Not to mention the plane journey is hellish," she sulked, kicking a stone along the sidewalk.

"I wish I could go," I huffed, that dream seeming too farfetched for someone like me in my lifetime. "See, I have these little town blues..." I sung merrily, she gave a groan at my tuneless singing voice - I was tone deaf, what could I say? "I think New York City might... Melt them away..."

She turned to me, trying to suppress a smile. "And let me guess, you think you can... make a brand new start of it, in old New York?" Finally, a childish titter escaped her lips.

"Now you're getting it, Kate!"

Even after all the troubles I had experienced, only at the age of fourteen, Kate found a way to - well - melt them away. Friendship is a beautiful and powerful thing and so many people underestimate it. Sometimes it can be that one person who saves your soul and saves your sanity. When blood relations let you down, it's the family that you choose who picks up the pieces.

The only thing that was my saving grace in that period of calamity was the fact that I was beginning to read lips better. I wouldn't call myself fluent, that would be pushing it - but I did get very good very fast.

But you could be certain that when I got home that evening, Barney wasn't pleased. I'd spent time away from the farm. I'd slacked. I'd let our family business suffer for a few selfish minutes of relaxation, a few luxurious moments of thoughtless happiness where I didn't think about my home life. I don't think Barney realised the toll the tragedy had on my social life.

I was sat down with a plate of shrivelled and burnt food and lectured about the importance of keeping the family ranch afloat. I didn't pay much attention, all truth told; that was the one upside to being deaf. When it suited me, I didn't have to listen. When it suited me was when the words directed at me hurt.

You always have to find the positive in the negative situation. It's what keeps me from going completely barmy. But by no means was that the end of my troubles or anywhere near the end of my story.

A/N - Hope you enjoyed the chapter and I hope I didn't break too many hearts!

I'm going to see Ant-Man today, and I'm so excited! Words do not do justice to my excitement; I'm already so invested in Scott Lang because I love Paul Rudd - don't let me down, Marvel! Marvel owes me a decent movie after the anti-climax that was Age of Ultron. If Janet Van Dyne doesn't appear, I will kill a man, so, you'll all know about how the film went if I suddenly end up on trial for a murder charge.

Dedication goes to 107bucky! x