Harold Barton was not a dumb man. Although he wasn't that smart, he still fared a bit of knowledgeable traits.

It wasn't very smart to lose control and kill your wife, or beat your kids, or even inhale several bottles of alcohol a night. But Harold still did these things, because he really didn't care about the truth. He also didn't care about the inevitable idea that he would die young.

This was a little different than what he had originally imagined, sure. But it was still pretty similar, with getting drunk and having things go downhill from there. Harold was the one who consumed the alcohol, but sometimes he wondered, was it the other way around; did the alcohol consume him instead?

It took control of Harold and his actions, held him accountable for them. Because of that, their family was as good as dead. Was it ever a "family" to begin with, or had they always been so corrupt? One of them was already gone. Gone for good and lost from this world; probably frowning upon her husband as he took the kids and drove away from his problems. Problems of alcohol and abuse and death.

His theory of when he would die was soon proven true. Proven when the car slammed into the brick wall lining the bridge and going right off the edge. But the other theory, was also not false, that Harold was a smart man. He knew what to do, for himself of course. The man thought he could survive just a little bit longer; hold onto this life before proceeding into his next. That is, if he got a second chance, which truthfully, he knew he didn't deserve.

The last thing Harold Barton knew he did before losing his life was open the car door. He was fully aware that water would quickly make its way into their vehicle, but also remembered hearing that the pressure would not allow him to open the door once they were submerged. That would block any chance of his escape.

Like father like son, for Charles 'Barney' Barton did the same thing as his old man. The kids in the backseats unfastened their seatbelts; their father already not wearing his. Two doors in the car, fully opened with the strong currents of the river flooding the vehicle. Two people with beating hearts, as Harold was now with his wife because of the dive into the water; the shadowy unknown.

His last thought was about the mistakes he made. His alcoholism, his family's grief and pain and suffrage. Mistakes he could've avoided and prevented, but chose not to. They all flashed before his eyes before his vision faded to black and he squeezed one last bit of air into his ruined lungs; Harold knew it would be his last.

Water pushed into the car from the now ajar doors. Within seconds it was to their knees and giving the vehicle's interior a run for its money. It would be gone in an instant, being a low tier model; all the Barton's could afford with only one parent working for minimum wage.

Barney's hand tried to feel around the cold to reach his brother. The black, icy river water was now rising to their hips. Then, he made contact with a soaked piece of fabric and pulled Clint towards him. "Clint!"

"Barney!" Clint's cry tore him apart; he couldn't stand to hear his sibling being so scared and alone. "Help!"

That was when Barney noticed the floor mat- although it wasn't on the floor anymore- it had floated up in the water and was trying to hold back the younger boy.

"Hold on, Clint," Barney yelled back and moved forward to remove the mat's grasp. He lifted it up and pushed it aside. Now it just floated in the rising currents, not fighting back. The water was nearing his chest. "Got it, now follow me!"

Barney still held a hand on his brother, scared of losing him. Together, they kicked and swam out of the wrangled car and tried to break the surface. The current was strong and the rainy droplets pouring from the sky definitely didn't help matters. Clint made it and took a large breath; his lungs had been screaming for that air for awhile now.

He waited for a second before realizing his brothers hand had gone slack. He saw that Barney's head had never popped up with him. Clint screamed like he never had before. He'd never felt so hopeless and lost before. He didn't know what to do to save his brother, his best friend, and his protector.

All that screaming for the things he desperately yearned for was tiring. Clint's vision was soon clouded by red and black dots, mixing in with the water and blood slightly coloring the river. He almost didn't even feel the hands pulling him up. He almost ignored them doing chest compressions and CPR on Barney's lifeless body.

Clint attempted to stay fighting; stay strong for the fallen around him. But he still gave in to the calling comfort of unconsciousness; you just can't control life sometimes and its outcomes.

Tony, Steve, and Natasha were shocked. Sure, she had known there was a car accident. But she hadn't known that it was caused by Clint's own father. She didn't know that he was the reason Clint grew up without a mother and in the system. The spy also thought that Barney and Clint would get out unscathed.

But then again, they were forced to watch as the medics tried to save him. After a few long minutes, they got a pulse and proceeded to move him into the ambulance and get the boy on life support. An unconscious Clint was also put with him; checked to make sure he was alright.

"So let me get this straight," Tony started as he looked at the medical tram that saved the two children, one being their future teammate.

"We just saw how our hawk's father killed his mother and got the hell outta dodge," Steve finished. He didn't want to look at the ambulances. It was all simply too much, and the falling into the river reminded him of his old best friend (cough cough boyfriend), Bucky.

Tony put a hand on Steve's shoulder, an action that surprised them both. He gave a supportive smile, trying to lighten the mood and whatever was on his mind. "You okay, Capsicle?"

Steve shrugged, but still didn't smile back, "It hurts to watch. Makes me think of the war and the things I've seen. Did I ever tell you about Bucky?" The captain didn't wait for Tony's response before continuing, "Buck fell off a train in '43. The fall killed him instantly and I never even got to say goodbye..."

"At least it can't get any worse right?"

Natasha, who had been oddly silent, made a small sound. "It's only the beginning, Tony."