#txrabbit

[destielebooks]

Howdy! I am interested in the Holy!Dean verse in Mobi format, but all the links in that masterpost go to the PDF! Any chance of getting a link to the Mobi or Ebook formats? Thanks! I'm thrilled to have found your blog.

Oops, I'm sorry. The links are fixed now, thanks for telling me!

Welcome, I'm glad you like it here!

[knottahooker]

Salutations!

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[copperbadge]

txrabbit replied to your post: Fanfic timez.

Avengers - identity porn - Phil/Clint

So there was a time before Clint knew his handler very well, and a time when he was new to SHIELD, and times like that are actually Clint's favorites because he gets to Do Research.

Clint liked finding things out, winnowing out secrets, and SHIELD was all about secrets. Like Operative 27.

Operative 27 was fucking legendary. Clint found out about him (her?) when he got up to the very top of the Helicarrier command tower, a place where man was not meant to go, and found someone else had been there too. XXVII was carved into the paint.

"So what does XXVII mean?" he asked one of the other agents, and she looked at him like he was a kindergartener.

"It's Operative 27's callsign," she said.

"Who's that when he's at home?"

"Nobody knows. He's the black ops of black ops. Fury might know who he is. He's not even in the books, though. People have looked."

"Operative 27 is the guy who pulled the Myanmar job," another agent said.

"I heard about that," Clint replied. "I thought it was just a myth."

"God's honest truth. I worked with a guy who was on the ground when 27 blew the bunker."

"How do they know it was 27?" Clint asked.

"He left a calling card. XXVII. It's his thing, like that sniper who used to leave feathers on his victims."

There were tons of legends about Operative 27. The agents reckoned he'd been active for about ten years, maybe as many as twenty. He did the job SHIELD agents couldn't do. He was still around -- lived somewhere on the Carrier, probably, but nobody knew where.

"Hey, you've been around here a while," Clint said one day, on the range with Agent Coulson. "You ever hear of Operative 27?"

"Where'd you pick that old urban legend up?" Coulson asked.

"Here and there. So he's not real?"

"Above my pay grade. But I wouldn't listen to the stories. SHIELD agents are prize bullshitters, you should have figured that out."

"They weren't bullshitting me on purpose, though."

"If there is an Operative 27, the best thing we can do is let him get on with his job," Coulson said, and put three bullets into the target, but made only one hole. Clint gave him an impressed look. "Anyway, he's probably retired by now. That's a young man's job."

"Maybe he's like the Dread Pirate Roberts," Clint said. "The mantle gets passed down."

Coulson gave him an amused look. "Maybe one day you'll find out."

Three years later, when Clint found himself removed from his bunk in the middle of the night and dragged up the command tower to where XXVII was still carved in the Helicarrier's paint, he realized Coulson wasn't bullshitting. He was prognosticating.

"We need a new Operative 27," someone said in a low voice, and Clint tried to see through the blindfold. "Interested in the job, Barton?"

"Fuck yeah I'm interested," Clint replied. There was a chuckle.

"I thought you'd say that," and the voice was more normal now, and familiar. When the blindfold came off, Coulson was crouched in front of him.

"Do you swear to uphold the codes and regulations of SHIELD and to protect the agency inasmuch as you are able, to the death?" Coulson asked.

"Not to the pain?" Clint said, and Coulson slapped him.

"This isn't a joke, Barton. My reputation is on the line."

"I swear," Clint said.

"Are you aware of, and do you accept, the responsibility of this title?"

Clint swallowed. "I am. I do."

Coulson handed him a white card. XXVII was printed on it.

"Then this is yours now. And I have your first assignment for you, Operative 27."