Coulson had to refrain from throwing something hard at his eldest (lovingly, of course) as said teen dropped into the centre of his office from the vents, spreading dust around his room. At the same time, his second-eldest, Natasha, calmly entered the room through the door, shutting it behind her and eyeing her brother with judgement. Rolling his eyes, Clint brushed the dust off his shoulders and settled into the comfortable armchair across his father's desk, pulling his knees up to his chest yet shrinking slightly under his sister's glare. Natasha chose to remain standing ramrod straight, not before moving to her brother's side and fixing their handler with a questioning look, inquiring as to why the two had been summoned to his office.
It took one raised eyebrow at the wayward son to have him stand up at attention next to his sister, rising from the armchair in record time. He would push the limits and step a toe over the line, but it was rare for the teen actually to run over it. He (usually) knew when to stop nagging their father and do his job. What frustrated Coulson is that Clint actually had zero problems with protocol and respect; he was simply in a playful mood, which was acceptable at home, not so much at the base around other recruits and specialists. Granted, he was only seventeen; nonetheless, it had been his choice to go into the field this early and accept the responsibilities that come with it, not his father's.
Sighing quietly, Coulson muttered a short "At ease, agents", gesturing at the two armchairs, clearing his throat pointedly when Clint rolled his eyes, having been made to vacate that spot only moments earlier. The two siblings took their respective seats across from their father, still waiting for instructions. Clint was about to open his mouth again, but a nudge from Natasha was enough to shut him up in fear.
"I know both of you are wondering why I called you here so early since Clint has not had a chance to prank anyone yet and cause me another migraine." He smiled cheekily at his son, the latter returning a similar grin. Natasha simply smirked fondly, both at her father and at her clueless brother. Turning stern, Coulson looked at both of his agents in turn. "Now, the reason is that we have a new group of Science Academy graduates coming in next week, as you both already know. However, Agent Weaver has requested that no one outside the allocated personnel interact with this specific batch; they are very young and impressionable." At Clint's groan, Phil's gaze turned even more stern. "I am serious, Barton. This is a direct order. If you so much as touch a hair on their heads, I will get the cane out. Am I clear?" At Clint's quick yet slightly wavering, "yes, sir", Phil continued. "And you, Romanoff, are entrusted with making sure Clint does not do anything. If he does anything, I won't hesitate to have the two of you suspended without pay for the foreseeable future. Is that clear?"
"Crystal, sir." "Yes, sir."
Coulson relaxed a little at the replies, the stern demeanour melting away. "I do not want to be severe with you guys, so do not make me, alright?" At the two noddings, Phil waved a hand, standing up. "Dismissed."
The warning should have been enough. Fast forward a week, and Coulson realised that it really wasn't.
Sticking his head out of the office, Coulson shouted at the hallway, not particularly aimed at anyone but confident enough in his clearance level that his request would be entertained. "Someone get Barton and Romanoff to my office in the next five minutes." A couple of surprised junior agents nodded, hurrying away after witnessing the senior officer's angry glare. Some fellow senior agents winced, feeling for Barton but also thinking that he deserved it. After all, the story of what the young agent had done spread through SHIELD like wildfire, and it would not surprise anyone if Fury went to Coulson's office to deal with it himself. With that, the man went back to his room, shutting the door in frustration and groaning loudly in the safe space, momentarily looking up at the ceiling, silently asking Thor for strength not to skin his son alive.
The little shit had disobeyed a direct order. He had done it. Coulson knew it was a bad idea when the Operations Academy director approached him a mere four months ago, asking for permission to graduate both Clint and Natasha early due to their exemplary performance and preparedness as field agents, but the older man also knew the number of headaches it would cause him as their handler (and their father, but at least he was already used to that). The two barely seventeen-year-olds were absolutely unmatched in their fields, Clint was, after all, SHIELD's best archer and sniper, and no one could match Natasha's espionage skills. That happens when your mom is the Cavalry; your uncles are Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, your godfather is Director Fury and your godmother Agent Maria Hill. Truthfully, Phil had no one to blame but himself; Natasha was a carbon copy of Melinda, and Clint was a teenage and slightly mouthier version of him. The two siblings working together were second to none, and while Phil was incredibly proud of them - he also knew how much extra work he would have to clean up after the silly mishaps and pranks. No matter how often he explained to his son that not everything was a target to be shot at, it seemed to fall on deaf ears. Countless times did Coulson have to resort to disciplining his son, with Clint managing to hit every punishment in the book in his first two months of employment. Countless times in the four months, Clint managed to create multiple stacks of paperwork for his dad with one carefully placed arrow aimed at one terrified rookie agent. Granted, Coulson made Clint fill most of it out and write lines as he did as a kid, but the incident still took place.
This time, however, Clint had truly outdone himself. Knowing that a specifically fragile fresh batch of the Science Academy graduates was coming in, Coulson called in both of his agents and talked to them about the importance of not messing with the graduates under any circumstances - AT ALL. He ordered them to stay away from the group, hoping it would be enough. Apparently, his son had other ideas.
Everything had been going well until Agent Weaver called him in a panic, saying that her baby recruits were doused with a bucket of ice-cold water and shot at with Nerf guns. It took all of Coulson's self-restraint not to swear and apologise to his colleague for the behaviour of his wayward son (and daughter, because there is no way that Nat did not know), assuring her that his troublesome agents would be down in a little bit to deliver a formal apology a little later. With that, he waited for his disobedient murder twins to step into his office, steeling himself for the conversation he would have with his kids. Phil cursed his own mouth, remembering that he had promised his son the cane if the younger man disobeyed him, and Coulson did not back down from his promises.
Sighing loudly, the handler moved to the back of his office, opening the last drawer of his desk (sulkily donned as the lame drawer by Clint after a particularly bad mission report from Agent Hand), taking the thin rattan cane, resembling a whippy switch, and swishing it through the air, wincing at the sound it made. That thing really stung, Coulson knew from experience; after all, Fury was never known as a soft handler back in the day, and Phil dreaded having to use the implement on his mischievous agents, but they knew what the consequences of their actions would be. Damn teenagers. Phil placed the cane on the desk, where it would be seen upon entrance to the office, noting with annoyance that there was still a minute to go - he just wanted to get this over with.
At five minutes on the dot, the door to his office flung open, revealing a slightly pissed Maria Hill, who had his eldest son in a headlock, probably because the younger agent tried to run away, and Natasha sedately standing behind the pair, at least her having the decency to look down ashamedly. Maria released Clint from the headlock, pushing him lightly towards his unamused father, who stood in front of the desk with arms crossed, eyeing the scene. Maria turned around and raised an eyebrow at her older goddaughter in warning, which was all it took for the teen to step inside the room and take her place next to her brother. Convinced that the two were not going to take off and run, Hill nodded at Coulson in understanding, prepared to leave, but not before turning to Phil and explaining that she was in the caf when she noticed the two teens trying to order a Shuttle away from the base, their clearance level not being high enough to do so without the permission of their handler. Putting two and two together, her suspicions being further confirmed when Clint tried to bolt as she approached the pair, she dragged the two of them (really only Clint, Nat walked beside them), biting and screaming, to Coulson's room.
Phil raised an eyebrow at the show his son put on, eyeing his two kids intently as he learnt more and more about their failed escape. Thanking Maria profusely and promising that Clint would deliver his apology at a later time, Phil waited until the female agent left his office before closing the distance between him and his agents.
Clint and Nat, for their part, stood at parade rest, backs ramrod straight, heads down, hands clasped behind their backs. For once, even Clint had his mouth shut, understanding the severity of his actions. They were damn lucky they were Coulson's kids - disobeying a superior officer's direct order was a severe infraction at SHIELD, no matter the scale of the order. While Coulson despised being so strict with the two, them respecting his authority at SHIELD, addressing him properly and following his orders was essential in their line of work. The moment of deliberation in accepting his orders could be the difference between life and death during field missions, and if Phil could not trust them to follow a simple command like this, how could he trust them to make the right choice in the field? Shaking his head, Phil addressed his agents again, making sure to enunciate that this was a SHIELD issue, not a family issue. There was a thin line between work and home, which was sometimes tough to uphold due to the emergency calls and weeks on the BUS, and a slight blurring of the line was okay until it wasn't. At home, Phil would explain that the pranks and jokes and arguing were more than acceptable at home, in fact, it was encouraged - Phil does not want his kids to be robots - but he cannot afford the mishaps to happen at SHIELD. He simply can't.
"Eyes on me." Coulson waited until both teens made eye contact with him, stepping closer to Clint to lift his head with his chin as he stalled before stepping back. "Romanoff, Barton, what was the one thing I told you NOT to do today?" In his no-nonsense tone, Phil spoke with both his kids with a stern gaze. They knew better than to ignore the warning in the question.
"Interact with the new recruits in any way, sir, but it was my idea, and I take full responsibility-" Of course, Nat would try and take the blame for her brother, and she did believably as well - second to none in espionage, after all. As heartwarming as this would have been usually, today it was just another infraction.
"Yes, you do. No way in hell you did not know that Clint would pull that prank, which means that you knew and did nothing to stop him. I expect better from you." At Clint attempting to interfere and Nat trying to insist that it was her who planned it, Phil raised his hand, effectively silencing both. "While I admire you wanting to protect your brother, you know better than to lie to me. Lie again, and I'll get the paddle. Clear?" It was not a threat, not a bargain, not meant to intimidate and cause fear - it was a warning of a promise that Nat would respond to.
"Yes, sir." Natasha was quick to respond. Phil wouldn't have to deal with arguing today; his tone ensured that.
"Agent Weaver told me three of the recruits ended up in Medical. Unprepared for the attack, they slipped, with two rookies concussed and one with a broken nose." Clint's eyes widened in surprise, and a momentary wince flashed on Nat's face. Neither of the two intended to hurt anyone, Phil knew that and did not want his agents to feel guilty, but actions had consequences. "This is why I did not want the two of you interfering. If I make a decision, and you follow my orders, the consequences of the action are on me, whether it is someone getting injured or a building getting ruined. It takes the responsibility and the guilt off your shoulders - this is how it should be. Making mistakes is okay, but not by recklessly disobeying my orders without reason. Today, it's a couple of shaken-up rookies and a broken nose. Tomorrow it could be much more serious. Your actions have consequences. How can I trust the two of you to follow my order in the field as your handler if you can't respect simple commands like this one? When have I ever given you an order without reason? Have I ever ordered either of you for the sake of giving an order?" Phil questioned his teens, knowing that the knowledge of hurting someone with their actions was enough to calm the two down and make the lesson sink in.
Receiving two guilty "no, sir"s, Coulson felt terrible for the two. Enough talking. It had been a while since he had to punish the two simultaneously, and Phil was unsure how he wanted to proceed, only that Nat would be disciplined first.
"Bart- Clint, Nat, look at me." Phil made the decision to switch from the impersonal code name to his son's given name, knowing how guilty the kids must have felt. Clint raised his head slowly to look at his father, looking younger than his actual age - the same as Nat. Coulson knew both kids had noticed the cane on his desk, so there was no reason to remind them. However, he felt the need to connect with his kids and assure them that while he was disappointed with their actions, he still loved them. "Come here, you two." His teens looked pitiful, and Fury would have given him hell for his inability to remain strict with them, but he could not stand ignoring how his kids were on the verge of tears. He pulled the two of them into a hug, Clint and Nat relaxing in their comfort. He kissed the top of their heads, pretending not to notice Clint wiping at his eyes.
Not letting go of his kids, Phil let them know what would happen next. "Clint, I want you to stand in the corner of my room when you're ready. I will call you over. Nat, similarly, whenever you're ready, bend over the desk. Take your time." His kids nodded, not releasing their father. It was easy sometimes to forget that, after all, they were only seventeen and not adults with how fierce and unmatched they were in their capacities as agents; other times, Phil was painfully reminded of how young they were and how early they were sent into this dark world. Sometimes Phil wondered if he made a mistake, letting them follow in his footsteps and graduate early.
Gradually, the two extricated themselves from their father, each following their respective order without argument. Clint moved to stand in the corner without a sound of protest, and Nat moved to stand in front of the desk and bent over It after taking a deep breath.
Phil wasted no time and moved to grab the cane and position himself to his daughter's left, placing his left hand on her lower back to calm her a little bit and offer her some contact. Usually, he would take them over his lap; however, the cane did not allow that.
Phil was a loving, caring father, never hesitating to comfort his children with a hug or a kiss on the forehead. Despite that, he was a strict disciplinarian and was not one to go easy during a punishment, especially not with a serious matter.
Mentally deciding on a number, Phil gave his daughter a verbal warning before landing the first stroke of the cane, cutting through the air and whipping the sit spots first. The pain took a couple of seconds to sink in, and Nat slowly exhaled, her knuckles turning white with how hard she gripped the desk. She often opted to remain silent (or attempt to do so) during punishments, but the cane was hard on anyone. Steeling his heart, Phil landed three more in quick succession, not missing how Natasha shook her head slightly and bent her knee to try and alleviate the intense burn spreading like wildfire, nor how Clint fidgeted in the corner.
Wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, Coulson landed another five whips rapidly, moving from the top of her buttocks to her upper thighs, slightly more careful with the force as the skin got more gentle. Nonetheless, the five brutal hits elicited a small groan from Nat, a few tears escaping her eyes as she buried her face in her hands. Nat was not one to cry often, and Coulson was sure it was the guilt mixed with the pain that caused her to react so visibly. Phil took a second to rub his daughter's back, hating that he had caused her tears. "Three more, kid." At Natasha's soft nod, Phil braced his heart and landed by far the hardest whips of all, focusing on where they would most be felt when she tried to sit down tomorrow. Natasha let out a soft whimper before finally relaxing and crying. Phil put the cane down on his desk and helped Natasha up to her feet, immediately pulling her into a hug, holding her close with one hand, and cupping the back of her head with the other, allowing his daughter to let it out.
"I'm sorry, Dad, I am so-" Phil shushed her silent apologies, kissing her forehead and assuring her that all was forgiven. They stayed that way until Nat was calm and composed.
"Go switch places with your brother, sweetheart." Still, a little shaken, the teen uttered a quick "yes, sir" and headed towards the corner where Clint stood. Clint wordlessly moved to take her vacated position, wanting to get the punishment over with. Phil did not miss the tears in his eyes but knew better than to comment on them. Phil picked the dreaded cane up and placed his hand on Clint's lower back just as he had with Nat, knowing that his son needed it even more than her. Taking a deep breath and warning his son, Phil drew his hand behind and landed the cane with force, heart aching at Clint's whimper and subsequent flow of tears as his son buried his face in his hands, just as Nat did.
Sighing heavily again and feeling like a monster, Phil whipped his son five times in rapid succession, moving from top to bottom. Clint whimpered with every stroke, kicking his leg a little at the fifth. Knowing that he almost hit his father, the teen looked back at him in fear, wondering if he would penalise him for the move out of position. Phil would not this time, so he smiled at his son weakly in reassurance, hoping that Clint would understand. Typically, Phil was stricter with the routine. However, this was the first time he administered anything more than six strokes of the cane, and he knew they hurt awfully.
Rubbing his son's back slowly and giving another verbal warning, Phil landed five more strokes, all on the upper thighs and sat spots, making Clint cry out at the last one. Shushing Clint carefully and rubbing his back, Phil promised the next one would be the last. Clint nodded carefully, still hiding his face and quiet cries in his arms. Intending to make the lesson stick and the previous stroke the hardest, Phil slammed the cane down for the last time, eliciting another heartbreaking cry from his son. Immediately, the cane was on the floor and Phil hugged his son, whispering sweet nothings into his ear with Clint holding on to his dad for dear life. The twins could withstand extreme amounts of pain and torture, but there was something intricately personal about the discipline doled out by the family in combination with the guilt of having disappointed their father that made their pain tolerance so much lower than usual.
As soon as Clint had calmed down a little, Phil called Nat over from the corner and invited her to join the hug as well. Embracing his two kids and silencing the final of the tears, Phil thought that even with all the pranks and mischief, he would not want it any other way. He loved his family.