They were so incredibly young, four at the most, two at the youngest, and there were six of them. Six of them! And they were tiny.
And quite frankly, Fury couldn’t even swear that they were all of the ages two to four, at least one of them was uncomfortably small and one of the others was a bit oversized for a toddler.
Also, one was crying. A lot.
“Can’t you shut them up?” growled Fury, holding his head in his hands.
“You could help, you know,” snapped Coulson, rocking the small version of Clint who was sobbing uncontrollably into his government agent’s suit.
“Fine,” groaned Fury. “Listen up, brats. You need to shut up or I’m going to make you shut up, do you understand me?”
Bruce was four and vocal about how much he did not like Clint’s crying. Natasha, to everyone’s surprise, was quite taken with Fury, running around him, babbling in Russian excitedly.
Thor was coloring on a file that looked rather important. Tony was sitting silently on the couch, watching the proceedings with intelligent eyes.
At Fury’s yell, everyone in the room froze, each child blinking until one by one, they began to cry. Everyone, that was, except Tony, who remained silent and dry eyed.
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