"Rogue agent must've gotten stupid in getting so close to the base. Yeah, he's a nobody. Used to know him, but that was before I was smarter." Barney stares into the holding cell—takes in the bruises becoming visible on his younger brother's face, a black eye, the reddened chaff of the metal on his wrists and a short line of chain that doesn't let him move around much.

"Think you can handle him?"

"Yeah. He's not that big." He slips into the cell and turns to see the other agent lock it behind him.

"Just call when you want out or he beats you up."

Barney snorts. Clint's never been able to get the upper-hand with him; he isn't worried about that.

Until Clint looks at him like that. Accusing. Betrayal.

The point of the arrow had wavered between him and Trickshot, but he'd known Clint couldn't do it… he wouldn't shoot his own brother.

"Don't do it, Barney." Clint pulled the string more tautly. It would be almost comical—the skinny kid threatening with a bow that had been custom-made since he wasn't strong enough for the standard size.

Trickshot only laughed. "You're going to stop us? You're going to shoot your own mentor?" His tide of amusement vanished and he grew serious again. "We're only taking our due…why don't you come with us and take a share?"

Clint shook his head, looking to Barney again. He was waiting for his older brother to side with him, fight with him… or defend him?

"Stand down, Clint."

"But…"

"Stand down or I'll shoot."

Clint's face hardened and he let the arrow go in Trickshot's wrist.

The sharpshooter cursed and snatched up a gun.

One instant Clint was lining up another shot and the next he was staggered on the ground with two bullets in his left leg.

Clint shot. Shot still ringing in his head. Dad shooting Clint. Barney lowered the gun he'd shot, feeling sick. It wasn't supposed to be like this…he wasn't his father, he was better, he'd raised Clint.

His younger brother stared up at him, both hands cupping his leg as the blood flowed. He screamed when Trickshot stormed over and began kicking him.

"Who'd you tell, Clint? Who'd you tell?!"

You've got to tell him…you've got to tell him or he'll kill you. Barney takes a step closer, torn between his mentor and his brother.

Clint only clammed up, shaking his head vigorously as Trickshot continued. A scream escaped him when the archer broke his arm with an audible crack.

"Why would you be that stupid. One agent hanging around the base, just looking for trouble, but that was always you, wasn't it? You get in scrapes and expect to get pulled out like you're five again."

"You walked away first." Clint says it low under his breath, but looks right at Barney when he says it.

You let Trickshot nail me and you just stood there. "What are you doing with HYDRA anyway?"

"When did I need your approval on anything?" Barney shoots back. "I practically self-raised you from the minute you were born so don't go making me accountable to you."

He'd only been six at the time, but even he hadn't understood why no one was making the baby hush up. He'd been sprawled on the floor reading with fingers jammed in his ears as he tried to focus on the words and not the wailing cries.

Seven eight nine ten eleven… he counted the seconds… why wasn't mom making the baby stop? … thirt- no, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…

Barney had gotten to thirty before he left to see what the problem was. He found Clint screaming for attention, his face red and splotchy from the tears. Mom should've known better that to leave him alone. Uncertainly, Barney picked his little brother up like he'd been taught (supporting his head, firm hold, but gentle, check and check) and tried to calm him. "Come on, do you have to be so loud? I guess you're hungry?"

Clint seemed to calm a bit, but didn't actually stop crying until Barney mixed and warmed a bottle of formula for him. He sucked away while Barney kept a protective hold on him.

It would be an hour later before their mother came back to find Barney still holding his brother, then sleeping, and reading to him from the book he'd started earlier. There'd be a near-empty bottle of vodka in her hand. And she'd only give one look at Barney before she took Clint away, warning Barney to be more careful with the baby, and left him alone.

I was the only one who cared about you, Clint. No one else did.

He doesn't like seeing his brother here, held prisoner, tortured for information probably, when he still remembers holding that tiny newborn.

Clint doesn't even want to look at him. Focuses on the cuffs instead.