AN: So this is my take on how Barney became Trickshot. Had the urge to do a Barney-centric thing after finishing 'Fly, Little Birds', but decided to keep him true to character in this one. All my knowledge comes from basic scraps I picked up off various websites (namely Wikipedia and a few pictures posted on Tumblr), so if anything is drastically off-canon, please let me know and I'll put it right somehow.

Having said that, there are other non-universe characters you may or may not be familiar with popping up here and there, but they're just 'fillers' if you like (and they may make the plot more interesting/amusing in some places). Hope you enjoy the read anyway - Barney deserves so much more credit than what he gets!

The Other Barton Boy

1. Orphan

They were made to stand at the head of the table, side by side, so that the other kids could scrutinise them without interruption. Ten pairs of over-curious eyes bore into them, immediately judgemental and plotting, and even with the Matron stood at their backs the hatred was clear. "This is Charles Bernard Barton and Clinton Francis Barton," she said, laying a podgy hand on their shoulders. A few kids sniggered at the names as the little one turned round and tugged Matron's shirt.

"It's Barney and Clint," he told her solemnly. Matron smiled in understanding, but a few more kids snorted into their breakfasts. Barney glared at them.

They were put in separate rooms at first until they both made a fuss: Clint didn't want to be split from his brother, and Barney got into a fight with his roommate within an hour. In his defence, it was the other kid who'd started it, and only because Barney had refused to show him his Captain America cards. "No way was I letting him get his greasy hands on my cards!" he told Clint the night they were moved together. Clint stared wide-eyed at him, awed by his brother's ability to defend what was his.

The first few nights often saw Clint tossing and turning in his sleep, whimpering and crying as whatever plagued his dreams warped his reality. Sometimes he would wake, and Barney would wriggle over to let him slide into his bed; night terrors were harder to handle, but Barney learnt how to deal with them fairly quickly. Matron once asked him how he got Clint to calm down, but he refused to tell her. If the other kids knew he cuddled his little brother to sleep, they'd both be bullied mercilessly. Barney wasn't letting anyone hurt Clint the way their father had. "I'm looking after you now," he said; "Not Matron, not some stupid strangers who want to have a kid until they're bored – me, your big brother."

Sometimes keeping true to his words was hard, particularly when Clint got snapped up like he was a puppy by foster parents. When he went to stay with some people called the Brandts, Barney was more or less alone. The other kids didn't want to play with him, Matron got fed up of telling him off, and any adults who tried to talk to him were only given a burning glare in response. More than a few times he picked fights with other kids outside the home, bullies he knew from school. Nobody seemed too surprised (he heard Matron say that trouble "sticks to that boy like treacle"), and Barney was routinely sat in both Matron's and the head-teacher's office. "You're an attention seeker," one head-teacher told him, and Barney thought that was the most ridiculous thing he'd heard in his life. The last thing he wanted was other people's attention.

One day though, Clint came back. His arrival wasn't announced with a fanfare, but he had forgotten how noisy his little brother could be. The second he'd come barrelling into their room, launching himself at Barney without giving him time to breathe, the peace and quiet Barney had become accustomed to was shattered. Clint talked non-stop about the Brandts, how they'd had a proper house with a shiny car, how he'd had his own room, the huge meals he'd been cooked, all the trips they went on, the friends he'd made at school, the massive TV in the front room, having his own clothes, and the sleek new sword and shield set they'd bought him as a gift. Barney listened half-heartedly, and when Clint finally paused for breath he scoffed. "Yeah? If it was so great and they loved you so much, what are you doing back here?"

Clint faltered, expression slowly changing from excited to confused. He was still young, Barney realised, still naïve; they'd been in care for two years now, but apparently his little brother hadn't realised exactly what foster families were really like. It was obvious to Barney that adults couldn't be trusted, not ever. Maybe Clint was still dreaming of the life they never had.

Barney's first major fight came not long after Clint's return. The nightmares had come back with a vengeance, something that Barney blamed the Brandts for, and one in particular ended up causing more chaos than usual. At first, Barney thought he'd been dreaming too: he could hear someone screaming, and he found himself thinking of their mother, how she used to scream when their father came home and she sent him and Clint outside to play. Then he remembered that it was just him and Clint now, and sat bolt upright. Over in the other bed, Clint was struggling against his duvet. Somehow the blanket had cocooned him, trapping his arms and legs and resting over his eyes.

With a slight growl, Barney threw off his own blanket and abandoned his own bed to help. Though he'd sort of missed Clint, he'd begun to enjoy getting a full night of uninterrupted sleep. "Clint," he said, tugging at the duvet so he could free himself. "Clint, calm down. It's just your blanket." But Clint scrambled backwards fast, smacking his head on the wall behind him – and then he started to cry. Rolling his eyes, Barney sat next to him, wrapping him in a hug when he crawled over. "What happened?" he asked, trying to keep from leaving him where he sat to go back to his own bed.

"I hit my head!" Clint wailed.

"I know that. I meant your nightmare."

He hiccupped loudly. "I was with – Mr and Mrs Brandt – and they took me to the park – and then they said they were going – and they didn't listen when I said wait – and then Daddy was there – and he shouted at me – and – and –" He broke off into a fresh wave of tears, and Barney sighed.

"Grown ups suck, Clint," he told him. "People like Dad and Matron don't love us. We're just in the way to them."

"My head hurts," Clint moaned.

"Where?" He pointed to the spot and Barney inspected it, like he remembered their mother doing a long time ago. "There's nothing there, you're fine."

"Hey Barton!"

Barney squinted as their bedroom light was turned on, feeling Clint bury his face into his shoulder. In the doorway to their room stood a boy named Kevin; he was a bit older than Barney, skinny and greasy like most of the care home kids. He also looked mad. "Yeah?"

"Make your stupid brother stop crying already!"

He stood up. "Or what?"

Kevin sneered at him. "Or I'll make him stop."

Barney stepped forward. "Really? How?"

Leaning around him, Kevin looked directly at Clint. "Shut up!" he yelled, and watching his little brother flinch violently on the bed was enough. Shoving him out of their room with all his might, Barney was satisfied when Kevin's own head cracked against the corridor wall. Following him out, he hit the other boy hard in the side of his head like he'd once seen his dad do, pushing him onto the floor when he doubled over. He tried to kick him in the side, but Kevin seemed to have regained himself and lunged for Barney's legs. As his feet were knocked out from underneath him, he felt his forehead connect sharply with the corner of the wall, and after a few confusing seconds of tangled limbs and alternating between kicking and scrambling, he found himself on his back with Kevin on top. One bony fist smashed into his nose, but he ignored the pain and reached for an ear instead, pulling it sharply and digging his stubby nails in. Kevin's knee drove into his stomach, and that hurt a lot. He punched the older boy again, hoping to inflict the same degree of damage that he had suffered – and then suddenly Kevin was lifted off him, and hands were on his own shoulders as he climbed to his feet. He strained against them, kicking against thin air when he was hauled up, only giving in when he saw Kevin similarly manhandled downstairs.

Both boys were in serious trouble. Kevin had several bruises on his face as well as a bloody ear, but it was Barney who looked worse – blood trickled from a gash on his forehead and his nose, and he could feel a bruise forming on his stomach. Nobody seemed to care that Kevin had started it, nor that Barney had been defending his brother. They were both scolded for waking up almost the entire house, scaring the younger children and hurting each other (not that Barney admitted to hurting). Though their 'wounds' were tended to, their punishment was dealt out almost immediately: cleaning duties for two weeks, and no trips until they apologised to each other. It was fairly obvious the latter wouldn't happen for a while, but Barney didn't care.

When they were finally sent back to their rooms, Barney was hardly surprised to see Clint still awake, even if someone had tried to put him back to sleep. His little brother watched him in the dark as he trudged wordlessly to his bed, sliding back under the covers without so much as a grunt at the dull flare of pain in his abdomen. He lay on his back in silence for two whole seconds, then turned his head in Clint's direction and beckoned him over. He shifted onto his side as Clint clambered in, finding the warmth of his small body somewhat soothing against his stomach. "Are you okay Barney?" came the whispered concern.

"Yeah." Clint's hair tickled his chin as he spoke. "Are you?"

"Yeah." He didn't sound it.

"Kevin's an idiot. I won't let him yell at you again."

"Thank you Barney."

"It's okay."

"Love you."

"You too Clint."

The head-teacher's office was like every other head-teacher's office he'd ever sat in: rectangular, grey, an odd painting hung on one wall, pointless plant sat smugly on a polished wooden desk alongside a gleaming name plaque, sleek desktop and semi-matching-phone, foreboding file cabinet or two in the corners, a few chairs. The chairs were the only thing that changed – sometimes they were more comfortable. Slouched as he was, Barney was sat in one of the less comfortable seats he'd ever been inclined to take, and he blamed it on the plastic. All the chairs in this school were plastic. That said a lot.

Mr McGuiney sighed at him over his spectacles. "This is the fifth time this semester you've been sent to me, Barton. Frankly, I'm getting tired of it."

"Maybe you should retire then Sir," he retorted with a smirk. It hurt his nose a little, but he'd gotten good at hiding pain.

"Any more cheek like that and we won't even discuss your staying here, son – am I understood?" Barney said nothing, just worked his jaw and tried not to roll his eyes. "Good. Now, you know what I'm going to ask, so go ahead."

"Wilson started it –"

"Of course he did."

"He should've kept his mouth shut!"

"But you shouldn't have responded with aggression."

"He provoked me!"

"You rose to it."

"Well the teachers weren't doing anything about it!"

"That doesn't give you the right to hit another boy, Barton."

Barney threw up his hands. "Why do you always take the other kid's side?"

McGuiney pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not taking sides here, but our conversations have always run like this, right from the first incident."

"Which was still Alvers' fault," he grumbled.

The head-teacher leaned forward. "It's never your fault, is it?" His response was a glare. "Barton, have you ever considered letting your brother handle his own situations?"

Barney scoffed. "Clint's still a kid. He doesn't realise what assholes people can be."

"Language!" McGuiney barked. As he turned to answer the desk phone, Barney allowed himself an eye roll and adjusted his position on the chair. The hard back was hell on his bruises, but he'd never once let an adult see him hurting, something he'd tried to teach Clint. "Hello?... Alright, send him in." The receiver slid back into place. "This talk isn't over yet, Barton, but for now it will have to be postponed. I'm going to ask you to do something, and I want your word that you'll do as told, okay?"

He shifted, staring back uncertainly. "Like what?"

"Don't speak unless I ask you a question, and when you do, keep it calm, concise, and clean. Can you manage that?"

As the office door was opened behind him, Barney clenched his jaw and avoided McGuiney's gaze. He jerked a nod as the next guest slumped into an identical chair beside him, keeping his eyes anywhere but on that now occupied chair. The door closed, and McGuiney polished his spectacles. "Wilson I'm sure you know why you're here."

"I do Sir, but I'm a little… shall we say confused? I mean, I knew you'd drag me in here sooner or later but at the same time as Barton? Seriously? With all due respect, I think maybe you need to retire." McGuiney closed his eyes as he repressed a groan, and Barney smirked humourlessly. Him and Wade fricking Wilson agreeing on something? He was so looking for flying pigs when he got out of here.

"The reason the two of you are here together is because you each owe an apology to the other."

"But I have nothing to apologise for."

"Wilson –"

"Barton's the one who needs to apologise."

"And he will, but –"

"Yeah, in your dreams," Barney muttered. McGuiney heard him.

"Did I speak to you, Barton? No? Then stay quiet. Same for you, Wilson," he added sharply as the other boy opened his mouth again, "I want this to go quickly, because I have far better things to be doing than wasting my time sorting out your differences."

Wade pouted. "I feel unloved, Sir."

"Fag!" Barney coughed, doubling over dramatically despite the pain that surged up his back. He didn't need to look to know that Wade was staring daggers at him (or attempting to anyway – it was hard to do that with a black eye), and McGuiney looked almost murderous when he casually asked for a cup of water.

Expression fixed at stern, the head-teacher leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. "You boys are both expected to apologise to one another, no buts. If you don't do it now, you'll stay in the detention room until you've both said it – and meant it. And if either of you think you can sit it out until the staff go home, then think again, because we have a meeting tonight. We'll be here for a very long time, and I'm sure none of my colleagues would have any issues supervising the pair of you."

Barney thought they would, but kept it to himself. Wade? "Again, with all due respect Sir, I kinda doubt that. I mean, it's Barton; how many teachers actually –"

"Finish that sentence, Wilson, and Barton will be let off the hook." The boy closed his mouth with an audible snap, and Barney knew that had to have hurt a bit. He landed a pretty good punch there. McGuiney glanced between them. "Apologies. Now, or later. Your choice."

There was exactly ten seconds of silence before Wade cracked. Barney had been planning on it. The kid couldn't withstand ten seconds of silence, regardless of the situation. "Sorry I didn't leave your brother alone Barton." McGuiney nodded, apparently satisfied with the meagre level of sincerity, and turned to Barney.

With two pairs of expectant eyes on him, he caved. "Sorry I beat you up."

Collecting up some papers on his desk, the head-teacher explained, "You'll both attend lunchtime detentions for the coming week. In addition, I expect the two of you to stay away from each other if you can't be civil, class projects aside. Wilson you need to keep that tongue of yours in check, and Barton, this was your last chance; if I see you in here again for anything other than good reasons, you can consider your place at this school forfeited. You're both dismissed."

They left without a word, Barney satisfied to see Wilson limping slightly as they moved. He said nothing for the rest of the day until Clint caught up with him, asking about his punishment, how much 'damage' Wade had done, and telling him that he hadn't needed to step in in the first place. "Oh, so you were gonna take care of it?"

His little brother frowned. "Barney, I'm grateful for your help, but you got hurt when you didn't have to."

He kicked a stone. "Like I was gonna let Wade Wilson lay into you. And he would, Clint. Guy's a douche."

"I can stand up for myself!"

"Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it," Barney chuckled. He was still looking for a flying pig.

Whatever plans he'd had for when they got back to the home were crushed when he found himself practically manhandled into yet another office – Matron's. Again, he'd been in here more times than he cared to number, most often looking like a defiant boxer in the last four years than the other kids Matron 'dealt' with. In hindsight, he should've expected it; of course Mr bleeding 'McWeenie' had phoned. Damn straight he'd told Matron everything that had happened. Obviously he was going to be punished here, too. Ten minutes after entering (only so short a time because he was tired and pissed off and wanted to sulk in his room so refrained from answering back), and with the familiar phrase of "Charles Barton, you are not a child anymore," fading from memory, Barney acknowledged the thought that out of everyone who'd seen him since his punch-up, Clint was the only one who'd asked if he was okay. He mentally shrugged, deciding that was proof that pigs sadly weren't flying yet.

Though he'd never been especially enamoured with the idea of flying, Barney found himself thinking about what it meant: corny stuff like freedom, right? No boundaries or limits, no-one telling him where to go, maybe even a sense of peace. Clint liked birds, something their mother had left with him (maybe the only thing he truly, happily remembered about her). Barney remembered a time when their father had been out, and she'd sat with them outside. Whilst he dug amongst the mud and grime to find insects, Clint had sat in her lap and watched as she pointed to the various winged creatures that crossed their vision. His little brother had always seen ones that she missed, making her laugh when he shouted loud enough to startle them out of the bushes (he would give anything to remember that sound again). The ones Clint had always been awestruck by were the birds of prey, though, so very high and far away. To Barney, they'd been nothing more than silhouettes, but Clint would ask about their colourings or the shape of their wings.

Because Clint had always been special. It was why she'd wanted to protect him, why she'd told Barney to protect him, too. Oh, she'd looked after both of them, their mother, but always their joint priority was his brother. Now he was all Clint had… and maybe Clint was all he had.

"Are you sure about this?"

"That's the fifth time you've asked."

"I know, but…"

"Course I'm sure. Never been more sure about anything."

"Seriously?"

"Well, maybe I'm more sure that our dad was a dick, but this is a close second."

Looking beside him, Barney saw Clint's face pinched with worry in the dark. Convincing him to go along with this hadn't been easy, but he knew how to push the right buttons when necessary. Making the circus sound better than the home hadn't been hard anyway. Slip in a few 'Mom would want' guilt-trips and bam, Clint was sold. They'd packed, waited until nightfall, then snuck out through the bathroom window. Cake.

"I just don't get it," Clint said again, voice hushed even though there was no-one but them at the bus stop. "If you were unhappy, why didn't you tell someone?"

Barney grimaced. "Because nobody listens to people like us Clint. They think we just do shit for attention, that everything we say is exaggerated, or a downright lie. You can't trust someone who doesn't trust you back."

His brother chewed his lip. "I trust you."

The statement was so Clint that Barney couldn't help the half-grin that stretched up his face. "I trust you too, little brother," he said, ruffling Clint's hair. He turned back to the road, bouncing on his toes a little. "People take flight when they want freedom, Clint." He paused; "It's just me and you again, right?"

When he glanced back, Clint was smiling. "Like always."

The approaching bus lights made him look like he was glowing with excitement, and feeling that sensation work its way up his body, Barney nodded. "Always."