Clint wrapped his hands around the weed and gave it one good tug. The stem broke off in his hand. Fighting the urge to curse, he pulled the trowel from his back pocket and started digging at the root.

"I swear, poke weed is actually of the devil…and should be killed with fire." He wiped a grubby hand across his forehead and sat back to watch the sun creeping above the tree line. The garden was in shade right now but it wouldn't be for long. Things were still dew-wet at this hour, but it beat being out in the heat of the day. Besides, he had to have it out with that possessed tractor again.

Clint bolted upright as an anguished scream came from the house. He was moving before the long exhale of breath finished. Laura. It wasn't her "snake" scream. It wasn't a startled yelp. It was a sound of terror and anguish he knew all too well, but that had no place here. Not here, not from his wife.

Plants were flattened underfoot as he tore through the garden and leapt onto the porch, vaulting over the side railing and pounding for the front door. Flinging the screen door open and tearing inside, the knife he always kept in his belt was already in his hand.

Laura crouched on the floor in the living room, curled in anguish over a pile of ash, flakes still falling from her fingers. Eyes stretched wide in horror, she glanced up at him, voice catching in her throat. "It's…it's the kids." She looked helplessly at her hands. "They just…just…" she devolved into tears as Clint rushed to her side.

"My babies, my babies," she mumbled as she pressed herself into Clint's shirt.

He felt her stiffen in his grasp. She looked up at him.

"I'm sorry." She darted in and kissed him hard, hard enough that he tasted blood where their lips met. And then nothing. She faded away into ashes flakes even as he grasped after her.

For a stunned eternity of seconds, Clint forgot to breath. He could only watch the grey dust spiral through the early morning sun breaking through the window behind him. Watch the motes drift through his fingers.

An anguished howl of grief tore through the still morning and shocked all other sounds into silence. Primal, wounded pain raged within the keen until raw lungs could give no more. Until it fell away into broken, desperate nothing.


Author's Note:

Several weeks after I'd seen Infinity War I sent a rough draft of this scene to my best friend as basically my take on how they should start the next movie. Just zoom out on the house with the anguished scream and then *slam* black with the title slowly bleeding through. Her response was as follows: "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!" with copious weeping emojis.

When the first trailers for End Game came out that revealed Clint as "Ronan" she texted me: "YOU CALLED IT WITH CLINT!"…and I was kinda confused because I had yet to see the trailers. Its nice to know I'm kinda on the same wavelength with some of the powers that be in the MCU.