So, it's taken me FOREVER and a HALF to update this. I apologize. I also apologize that it's been so boring lately, but that's just 'rising action' as my teacher would call it. It has to make a peak sometime. It'll happen soon, I swear. ^^

Also, I love reviews.

You guys are so awesome.

So you should definitely...

enjoy.


The house had a back porch, which Bernard led them to, and pulled open the sliding door. Inside there was a kitchen with a large wooden round table. Bernard motioned for them all to sit down.

He took the seat nearest to the fridge, and popped it open, searching for something inside of it. He withdrew a can of beer from it.

"Bernard, this is Tony, Steve, Jan, and Hank," Clint pointed to each in turn, "Guys, this is my brother Bernard."

"Nice to meet you all." He waved his hand warmly and smiled at them, then turned to Clint, looking him up and down. "Man, it's been a long time, huh? Last time Ah saw you, you was, whut, a foot shorter than me?" he laughed and continued, "And you was scrawny. Your face is still a bit thin," he patted Clint's cheek, which caused Clint to glare playfully at him, "but Ah guess that's what's to be expected. What did those SHIELD guys feed you, anyhow? Miracle grow? Haha, just stick ya in the garden next tuh the tomatoes, water ya, make sure ya get plenty of sun…" he trailed off, a grin plastered onto his face.

"Ah, shut up, man. Look at you! You're skinnier? Your hair's shorter- that's for sure, ya little hippie!" Clint laughed.

Bernard quickly changed the subject. "Y'all want somethin' to drink?" he asked, nodding toward the fridge.

"What do you have?"

"Eh, soda, juice…" he looked around, smiling as if expecting them to take him up for some. Thor and Tony looked at him disbelievingly and Clint rolled his eyes. He grinned, "Alright, Ah guess y'all're big boys now. We got some German beer, American beer, and Bourbon." he said. "Do Ah need tuh check ya'll's ID's, or can Ah just trust ya'll?" he added jokingly.

"Shut up, Barney. Gimme some Bourbon," Clint stated, presenting his palm to his brother. Barney cocked an eyebrow at him and put his hands on his hips.

"Don't give me no sass, son. How old are you again?" but he grabbed a glass and a brown bottle from a cupboard and poured him some. Tony waved his hand to ask for some, too, and Bernard eyed him, then poured another glass.

Jan passed, and so did Hank, and Thor asked what the difference bewee. Bernard explained to him how Americans tended to like theirs really cold, while Germans served theirs room temperature, so Thor took some German beer.

"This'll sure knock ya off ya seat, let me tell ya," Bernard told him, smirking.

"You don't know who this is, do you, Barney? This is Thor, the Golden Boy of Asgard," Clint said, patting Thor on the shoulder as he downed the drink.

"Sounds like a cult," Barney said dismissively, pulling out a can of Budweiser from the fridge. Clint rolled his eyes.

"So, how does one who works in New York come to live in New Orleans?" Tony asked, sipping his Bourbon.

"Why wouldn't I live in New Orleans? New York is friggin' cold." He popped the can open and drank from it.

"During the winter," Tony corrected him.

"Whateva'. Too many people- wannabe gangster kids, starving artists, snobby rich people," Bernard dismissed him pointedly.

Tony glared. "Says the 'notorious racketeer'. I'm sure, if you looked, you could find a buncha groups of idiots here in New Orleans who are wannabes, just like up in New York."

"Yeah, I could. But the thing is, there ain't no one tuh 'pillage' down here. Just simple farm folk. They ain't good income, ya know," Barney said conversationally, "And in the city, we still be rebuildin' since the hurricane. No good pickings there, either," he added, smirking at Clint's horrified expression.

"I can see that," Tony nodded.

"So… since when have you had kids?" Clint asked. It had been bothering him since he'd found out about the kids, and he had to ask. He was planning on smoothly working his way to this point in the conversation, but he couldn't wait that long.

"Well, Damien's twelve, I'm… how old am I? I always forget. I think I'm twenty nine… So twenty nine minus twelve is…" he calculated it, looking up at the ceiling, "Since I was seventeen. You're like, two years younger than me? So that would make you fifteen. Since you were fifteen."

Clint looked at him, the words slowly sinking in, in sync with his face falling into complete shock.

"What?" he took another sip of beer.

"Why didn't you know about this, if you were fifteen and Barney was seventeen? You two were both still at home, right?" Hank asked. Bernard burst out laughing, but when no one else joined, he stopped.

"You seriously don't trust anyone, do you?" he cocked his head.

"What do you mean?"

"You prob'ly haven't told 'em anything 'bout yourself, huh?"

"They know I was a SHIELD agent. They know my partner was Widow. What else do they need to know?"

Bernard rolled his eyes. "Well, how 'bout Ma 'nd Pa? They obviously didn't know 'bout Rachel or Valerie. I doubt they knew 'bout me 'either, till it came of importance. Or the circus? Orphanage? Running away?"

"Which time?" Clint smirked.

Bernard rolled his eyes. "Either."

"Be specific," Clint pressed, feigning confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about.

"Clint," Bernard sounded tired, now, and there was an edge to his voice.

"Bernard," returned sharply, not missing a beat.

The two sat glaring at each other.

"Okay, settle down fellas," Steve said, putting his hands up.

"I'm rather curious as to where this is going, actually," Tony said, bemusedly looking between the brothers. Steve shot him a look, "Fine, fine. Ruin my fun."

"Ah think that you should tell 'em now." Bernard shot a patronizing look over to Clint.

"Why?"

"Because if you don't say anything now, you're not going to. Ah know you Clint."

"That's freaky accurate, actually. Kudos."

"Yeah, whatever."

"I choose not to 'tell'. I'm not the 'telling' type." Clint crossed his arms firmly.

"Fine. Ah will."

"You wouldn't."

"But Ah am. When Clint was-" Bernard started, but was interrupted when Clint jumped across the table, his hand going to Bernard's mouth, knocking Bernard's chair backwards with Clint on top of him.

"Clint!" Steve stood up. He pulled the younger brother off the other and sat him back in his chair.

"Alright, next subject maybe? We can all talk about Clint's childhood issues later. You had said you would 'talk to Clint'. Or does that mean something else, here?" Hank interjected.

"Ah, yeah. Uh, listen, Ah'm glad to see you, and it's nice that you brought all your little friends along too, but you really shouldn't have come down here," Bernard said, rubbing his arm where it had connected hard with the floor.

"What? What does that mean?" Clint glared.

"Don't look at me like that. Anyway, you know what Ah do for a living now. Ah run rackets. Ah'm a criminal. And with being a criminal and running rackets, you get competition. Cut throat competition. Down here, Ah go by 'Bernard Schneider'. Up in New York, my name's still Barton. I've made plenty of enemies the last couple years."

"And what does that have to do with me?"

Bernard rolled his eyes, "Bernard Barton. Clint Barton. Hawkeye. SHIELD. As many people know, SHIELD's database ain't exactly secure. It gets leaked all the time. A rival racket could easily hack 'em, and find ya name. Find out that you're Hawkeye. Rachel always worries about rivals connecting 'Barton' and 'Schneider' an' coming here. That, and the fact that she really don't like you, is probably why she came at ya like that."

"Oh, come on. She probably wasn't even thinking about that. She hates me! And you never believed me about that, either!" Clint crossed his arms and glared at his brother like a little kid.

"Well, sorry. Ah apologize."

"Not accepted."

"Grow up."

And the slider door slid open at that moment, and Rachel came in. Mud was dried on her face, and she looked extremely irritated. Clint unconsciously winced at the expression.

"Your turn," she said through gritted teeth, kicking off her shoes and heading somewhere else in the house, presumably a shower.

Bernard sighed with his whole body dramatically. "Fine," he answered Rachel, despite her absence.

He picked himself up and motioned for the rest of them to follow. He went out the door, jumping over the stairs and landing on the ground gracefully.

There was a group of boys standing in a circle between the barn and house, juggling a soccer ball with their heads and legs between them.

"Yo! Damien! Where're your sisters?" Bernard called to the group. The blonde head of the trouble making boy from earlier popped up, nearly catching a ball to the face as his friend passed it to him.

"Uh, I thought they were in the barn. Why?"

"What happened to your ma?" they neared the group now, and the boys continued kicking the ball, bouncing it off their ankles, heads, knees, stomach, chests, and everything else they could.

"Uh, Ah don't know, Pa," he said, half concentrating on talking, half concentrating on the ball he received and keeping it in the air. He smacked it with his ankle and sent it to the boy next to him.

"Yo! Schneider!" A voice called from the front of the barn. Clint was standing next to Bernard now, the rest of them standing awkwardly behind the two.

"Dusty! Howya doin', man?" he grabbed Dusty's hand and bumped chests with him. "Hey, you seen my girls around here?"

"Oh, I think they were running around in the upper parts of the barn, last time I checked."

And, as if on cue, a big BOOM was emitted from the barn.

"Shoot." And he ran into the barn, Clint and Dusty on his heels.

The music was quieted and the people had formed a circle around a crying little girl who was sitting on the ground in the middle of the dance floor.

"Christina May, what are you doing?" Bernard asked, taking her in his arms.

"They pushed me!" she cried, pointing up at the second level of the barn, which was made up of cat walks and railings.

"Jolie, get down here. Let's go play a game."

A staircase was lowered from the ceiling to the left, and two girls- one from earlier and one much younger than the other two appeared.

"What kinda game?" the older one asked happily.

"Soccer."

"But I don't like soccer!"

"How about you and your sisters and Damien and his friends versus me?"

She instantly brightened, an evil smile coming over her face.

"Well, no. I'm not taking on all you little kids. Clint? You wanna play on my team?" he said, looking over to Clint.

"No. Absolutely not."

"Aw, c'mon. We used to love playing soccer!"

"No, you used to love playing soccer."

"Not true. I still love to play soccer. Your argument is invalid." Bernard crossed his arms and sniffed indignantly.

And suddenly, Clint found himself standing in the middle of a mowed square of grass, a makeshift goal in front of him, and a bunch of kids surrounding him, staring at him menacingly, competitive little smirks adorning all of their faces. A whistle blew, and he quickly moved to kick the ball. It flew through the air, towards the goal.

Why was he here again?

Damien was there, then, head-butting the ball. It smacked the ground and bounced back up, and Barney was running at Damien. He pushed the kid out of the way roughly, a huge grin on both of their faces. Clint rolled his eyes and ran to catch up with his brother. He could feel the rest of the Avengers watching him, and he tried not to slip up. He wasn't used to wearing shin guards or cleats. He didn't know why they had extra ones his size. It was kind of creepy.

He smiled as Bernard plowed through the kids- he was always really aggressive when it came to competitions of any sort. He shot, and it looked really good, but then the goalie jumped in front of it, and it connected with the kid's stomach. It knocked the air out of him, but the kid had successfully blocked the ball. Clint turned to run back to his position, but found himself falling to the ground instead.

It was an instinct, falling to the ground, when he heard gunfire. It shredded through the air, and he vaguely registered that Bernard was yelling.