I just... really want something where Fury is a father figure for Clint. Like the positive one he never had as a kid, and they are both aware of this but don't actually acknowledge it, until Clint does something stupid and ends up in the infirmary, at which point Fury camps out by his bed for hours on end and terrifies the nurses and shit. Because that's what dads are supposed to do. Even when they're pretending to not actually be a dad.

Can be a 5+1 thing or a "The Avengers finally notice this" thing or just anything, I just need it. Because of reasons.

(Bonus points for Clint/Coulson and some mention of Fury giving Coulson the "If you hurt him..." talk.)

Not sure if this is precisely what you wanted Anon, but I couldn't resist this one. Hope you like.

Nick Fury is Clint Barton's father. (and everyone knows it but the avengers)

Coulson supposes it started the Christmas of '99. He'd been in Vermont with his family and Pam, Hill had been at home in Jersey, and Clint had been in the infirmary, bruised and battered, and still shaky as a kitten from his breif sojurn with HYDRA.
Coulson had offered to stay, they all had, but Clint had pushed them away with the steadfastness of a hurt animal, and eventually they had let him be. He's only heard stories about what happened next, but he supposed that proximity and mutual loneliness pushed the two together, becuase when he returned, Clint was sitting up in bed, drowsing as Nick Fury, his boss, the terror of the civil government, read to him from "The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe."
Fury looked up but didn't stop reading, continuing on in a slow steady voice until Clint finally gives into sleep and relaxes, his head lolling to one side, and his eyes slipping shut.
He is floored as Nick puts a bookmark on his place, and sets it on the nightstand, before removing the pillows that had been holding Clint up and transforming them into a sort of nest around his arms and shoulders, basically protecting him from the bruises his flailing arms and hands might have formed from the rails on the bed. Once they've cleared the door Fury asks what he wants in the same bored, bastardly tone as ever. His mind implodes a little, and he stands there dumbly for a few seconds before recovering and explaining his errand. Fury signs the nessecary papers, then informs him that he's convinced Barton to take his nessecary leave in Italy, and that Coulson should fill out the forms and he'll sign off on it.
Ever since then, he's known that he might be Clint's handler, but Nick is his father.

Maria had noticed it slowly. The way Fury smiled every once and a while when Clint said something smart. The way the younger agent was mellower and more able to take direction seemingly over night. The way that her boss relaxed a little, stopped snarling at everyone and everybody.
Although, once she'd fit the peices together, she'd noticed that Nick's snarling increased exponentially whenever Clint was off on some sort of mission, and dissapearred every time he came back unscathed.
But for her, she didn't really connect their relationship until she happened upon them in his office one day. The outer door had been open a crack so she'd made to go in, stopping dead at what she saw when she cleared the entryway.
Clint Barton was behind the desk with Fury, looking through a sort of book almost frantically.

Behind. The. Desk.
She'd been working for Nick for years, and she'd never once been behind that desk. But there was Clint, staring at a notebook for a long minute before biting his lip and asking, "Seven?"
Fury shook his head, but kept his temper, a first for the man, "No, Clint. That was the answer to the last one, remember?"
Clint groaned and dropped his head down on the desk, "God, I'm so stupid. I don't know why you're wasting your time."
"Hey." Fury's tone was mildly disapproving. "What did I say about that?"

"Clint." a little louder this time, "What did I say about that?"
Clint finally looked up and sighed, "That just becuase I may not have been afforded the opportunities during my childhood to gain a good education, I am in no way stupid or anything less than intelligent."
"And ?"
Clint sighed again, and took on a wilder, more frustrated tone, "And just becuase I have a stupid learning disability that makes it difficult for me to understand written text, and explains most of my troubles throughout the years, does not mean that I am an idiot, nor that I do not deserve your time or efforts in the area of chemistry."
"Good." Fury's voice is a low approved rumble, "Let's try again. You're going to be fine. If Helium and Argon are both consumed in a chemical reaction, and the byproduct of this reaction is -"
She closed the door softly on her way out. The next week when she saw a chemistry book and a bunch of folders in Fury's desk drawer,and a test marked with a B+ in his inbox she did not deign to comment.

Natasha knows it the minute Fury calls her into his office after Budapest, after Clint kisses her in the pouring rain and smiles and smiles and smiles. She stands very still as Fury reads a folder and another, before finally looking up at her and saying, "Agent Romanov."
"Director." She waits.
"It's come to my attention that you and Agent Barton are breaking some of our fraternization regulations.
She waits.
"Agent Barton's been with me a long time, Agent Romanov. I'm quite fond of him. I hope you understand that?"
She nods, then Fury looks down at the desk a monute before looking back up again, "Clint had been through a great deal, Agent. He doesn't deserve to be toyed with, so if that's the case - "
"No. That's not the case, director."
"Good. Good." He keeps her there another few minutes before fixing her with a steely gaze and saying, "That's all agent."
She nods and walks out. She runs into Clint outside the door, and he gives her a bit of a smile before walking in.
She wonders why she feels like she's been vetted, and not for SHEILD.,

Clint collapses sometime between the Sharwarma and the debreifing, just going pale like spoilt milk and his eyes rolling back into his head. Steve catches him quickly, feeling the man going limp against him. He gets him down to the infirmary quick enough, where they attach him to IVs and monitors and tuck warm blankets around him. They tell them that it's shock, and trauma, and an extreme amount of dehydration and sleep deprivation, and that he'll be allright, but he needs some rest and quiet for a while. Steve nods, and tells the rest of them that he shouldn't wake up alone. Suprisingly, they all agree, and they work out a loose sort of schedule, although he ends up taking the most hours. He doesn't mind, he cannot sleep in a hospital room as well as anywhere else. He's walking down the hall towards Clint's room for his nightly shift when he hears a yell and speeds up, only to freeze in the doorway. Director Fury is there, sitting on the side of the bed, with a gasping Hawkeye leaning against his chest, as he murmurs soothingly. After some time Clint's breath slows, and he asks, head still tilted downward into blonde hair, "What happened?"
It's not the voice of the director, or the soildier. It's mellower somehow. Gentler. Clint talks quickly, a slightly hysterical edge to his words, his breaths struggling in his chest, "I couldn't breathe. He made it so I couldn't breathe. He'd just snap his fingers and I'd - "
"All right. All right. Calm down. Match my breathing. Nice and slow. Calm down Clint, you're gonna strain those ribs. It's all right. Nice and easy now..."
He goes on, until Clint is collapsed against him, breathing slowed down, eyes flickering. Steve hears a low chuckle, then Fury says, "Back to sleep Clint. Don't fight it. You need rest. I'm here. Nobody's gonna get you."
Steve smiles and turns back down the hall. He isn't needed here.

Nick takes Clint home once the infirmary releases him. He helps him up the stairs in his little house in Long Island Sound, and tucks him into the soft bed in the slightly musty old guest room that's really just his room, anymore. Once he's under the covers he relaxes and allows himself to drift a good long while, finally feeling safe. The next few days are lost to him. He knows that Fury is there anytime he calls for anything or makes even the slightest sound of discomfort. He knows the man helps him to the bathroom and changes the dressings on his back and arms after his shower. Often, he brings him food, chicken soup and popsicles for the sore throat and fever he can't shake. Ice cream, and a grilled cheese sandwhich. He holds Clint's shoulders as he heaves when they both discover that Tuna melts and mind alterations don't go well together. Clint relys on him more than he usually does, needing support from the male figure in his life. At night, when he shakes and struggles through memories of Loki, Fury is there, an anchor on the side of his bed, his low voice speaking of home, and safety. He is the one who tells Clint about Coulson, who lets him cry, his face buried in his pillow so no one can see. He doesn't tell him any of that crap Phil was so fond of, just puts a cold cloth on the back of his neck and rubs his back as he has it out. Once he is all cried out he cleans his face for him, and it makes him feel ridiculously young, like a small child.
Of course, when he was a small child, no one cleaned his face after he was done crying.
After about a week he manages to wander downstairs one afternoon. Nick looks up at him, but doesn't seem surprised as he tells him, "There's some warm pizza in the oven."
He nods and grabs a plate, taking two slices and smiling when he sees it's his favorite, olives and extra cheese, something Nick doesn't order often. Nick says pizza without meat is an insult to Itailans. "Natasha said she'd stop by later." The words are delivered blandly, but he understands the implication as Nick says, "I'll be out until tomorrow." He nods, softly, secretly doubting anything needing privacy will be going on. He's so exhausted. He thanks Fury anyway, and the man nods, squeezing his shoulder as he stood and said, "You'll be all right. Takes time."

When the rest of the time find out, they are nothing if not surprised.
Fury is waiting for them in the emergency room, is the one who has to sign the papers for Clint's emergency surgery. That's not such a revelation, although, honestly, most of them thought it would be Natasha. Still, a supervisor as a medical contact isn't that unbelievable. Then there's the fact that he waits with them, that he's the one who goes back while Clint's in isolation, and who stays when he's stepped down. He sits at the mans bedside and drinks endless cups of coffee and does endless stacks of paperwork and just waits for Clint to wake up. When he does, three days later, the first person he reaches for is Fury. He smiles at his agent gently before telling him, "You're fine, kiddo. You're all right. Try and relax, and we'll get you more comfortable."
Hand holding. That's a bit odd. Thor leans over and whispers something to Tony, who chokes on his coffee before say, "God, I hope not."
They are ignored as Clint is extubated cleanly, and settled back down on the bed, looking at Fury fondly, "How long - "
"Have I been sitting here?"
Weak nod.
"Three days, give or take. I'd prefer not to repeat the experience."
And there were the three days. If Tony didn't know any better, then he would say that they were in a relationship, but he knows Barton's with Romanov, knows this becuase she's been sitting as immovable as a sphinx for three days, along with Fury. She smiles when she sees Clint awake, and kisses him softly, murmuring something in Russian. Clint is on the verge of sleep again, when a nurse knocks on the door, "Director Fury? There are some things we'd like to discuss with you regarding your son's treatment."

Three minds imploded simultaneously. Unsurprisingly, Bruce recovers first, asking, "Son?"
Fury smiles a little and looks at Clint, "That's right. Lots of trouble, but I think I'll keep him. What do you think?" looking at the subject of the conversation, regarding him through bleary eyes.
"I bought you Giants tickets for Father's day."
Fury's smile was answer enough.