I Disappear
A Supernatural x X-Files crossover!
Part 1 of fuck if I know!
Synopsis: When Scully goes missing, Special Agent Fox Mulder turns to the most unexpected brothers for help—The Winchesters.
TW: mentions of abduction, cursing, inappropriate jokes, spoilers if you’ve not watched season 2 X-Files. That should be all for now. Let me know if I missed anything.
Word count: 1304
Author’s Note: Guysssss… I got this idea and had to get it out. I’ve been in a tremendous writing slump, so I’m just looking for fun. Bear with me on the lack of reasonable time cross-over lmfao, we are ignoring that logic to some degree. I imagine this is set pre-Cas for Supernatural, and after Scully’s disappearance in Season 2 of X-Files. Please be kind if I’ve gotten any misinformation, it’s been awhile since I’ve watched X-Files but I absolutely adore Mulder. This is my first time writing Mulder, and a long time since I’ve written Sam or Dean. Minors DNI, even if I do not write smut. I didn’t proofread this well. Wrote it in one sitting, sleep deprived. Teehee.
**AI will NEVER be used in my works. Never has been, never will be.**
If you love this, like, reblog, whatever makes you happy! Please enjoy. Just getting started. 🩷👽👻🛸
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Basement — Home of the FBI’s Most Unwanted
Seconds tick by on the clock, reminding Mulder of every second Scully’s still missing. Every second she still counts on him. Every second he’s not found her, every second he can attribute to another failure. Another loss. Another let down. Seconds feel longer after midnight, where time stands still and guilt becomes necrosis. The tick… tick… tick grates against his sanity, deteriorating him to a delirious semblance of himself.
Bruises sag his eyes, cheeks gone hollow, Mulder slumps in his desk chair, spine shaped with defeat. Hair hand-torn, tie strangled to a fist-crumbled snake, Mulder flips the scrap of paper over in his hand. Ink smeared from his pocket and sweaty hands, the contact deceased with a criminal record the size of Watergate according to the Bureau’s database, but the voicemail instructed to call John’s son, Dean, with inquires.
No specification about what the nature of the inquiries should be or the self-appointed profession. No guarantee of a call back. And hell, why would they? Mulder’s a fed—same type of person they’re running from. All he can do is hope they’ll answer, listen, and have some sort of intel that gets her back.
Hope’s a dangerous thing.
It’s all Mulder has.
Does she still have hope? Scully. Scully’s a sensible woman. When, for a sensible woman, would hope start to erode?
Mulder hooks his thumb through the chain around his neck. Scully’s cross glints in the sallow light of the basement office. It burns against his skin, taunting the possibility she suffers while he sits.
Would the concept of God be enough to keep her grasping the thin thread of hope? Or would she succumb to the devastation of captivity and abandon Him, as He had her?
This idea is absurd—even for him. If the FBI can’t find her, how in the hell would a felon like Dean Winchester be able to help? Grave desecration, credit card and identity fraud, breaking and entering. A list as extensive and as impressive as his father’s.
Criminality passed down like genetics. Thing is… they’re good. Too good.
And Mulder’s desperate.
Desperation will conquer any man.
Scully would tell him this is preposterous, even for him.
Consulting a criminal, Mulder, really? she’d say, and he’d give a wry grin that says he’ll try anything once.
But Scully’s not here. She’s not fucking here.
The worst part?
It’s easy without her. No one argues his theory, because no one gives a shit enough to listen. No one to offer accountability when he’s presented the facts and he skews it to fit the narrative he wants. No one to roll her eyes with an exasperated sigh, consult with her infuriating skepticism, or offer necessary logic to rein him in when he spirals into another orbit.
There’s no one to keep him honest.
Yeah. It’s easy without Scully.
Mulder doesn’t want easy.
A shaking thumb punches in the phone number, and he’s never trusted his voice less, rough with hours of disuse and the decay of hope.
Mulder wants the truth and the one person that ensures integrity while they pursue it.
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Middle of Buttfuck Nowhere, Indiana
The motel sign out front flickers a seizure. The fight before death announcing vacancy at the Out Of This World Stay, the message board giving wary travels one word: sorry.
Rain taps the roof, white noise to the tension festering in the room. Tension when one brother thinks with his goddamn heart, and the other with his instinct.
Reluctant compromise follows.
“Dude.” Dean scrunches his face. “The guy’s a fucking fed and your vote’s to call him back? You remember prison. We had to tape the soap to your hand ‘cause you’re a prime cut ‘a meat.” Dean shakes his head, stuffing his shirts back into his duffel on the bed.
“Yeah, but he’s a fed asking for our help, Dean.” Sam sighs, lifting a hand like he weighs the possibility of genuine intention. The chair creaks as he sits back, long legs sprawling under the two-person table in the room. “What if he really needs our help? What if what he’s saying is the truth and this woman—this doctor—has been abducted and it’s our area expertise?”
“Sam. Listen to yourself. Conspiring with an FBI agent who saw some doctor-chick get beamed up like some C-cut remake of Strange Invaders—” Dean pauses. A fond memory shifts his face into a smirk. “Heh. I think I’ve watched that online somewhere before. They take the little probe thing, stick it—”
“Okay! Okay. Okay. Dean? You’re doing that thing again, bringing your…peculiar taste in videos into totally normal conversations. Anyways—” Sam drags a hand down his face. “The guy’s legit.”
“The guy’s name is Fox. Fox! How far into another dimension do you have to smoke yourself to name your kid Fox? You’re sure it’s not an alias?”
Sam turns the laptop to Dean then kicks his boot up on the other chair. “Pretty sure. Take a look. His badge number’s legit in all cross-referenced databases, even had Bobby look into it. Plus… he’s got a degree from Oxford… with first-class honors.”
Dean leans a stride over, eyes narrowed on the grainy photograph of Mulder in his Oxford gown.
“…Douche.” Enough said.
“Yeah, well—” Sam paws the laptop back like he needs something to keep from thinking about his own missed potential. “He’s asking specifically for our help.”
“Our help sounds a lot like the ol’ bait’n switch on the FBI’s most wanted list.” The snap of Dean’s shirt as he straights it to fold, shaping compliance to everything he owns. “C’mon, Sam, we might be idiots but we’re not stupid. And aliens? Really? They’re gonna need to be more realistic to lay that trap for us.”
“Look… as far as we know, aliens don’t exist, sure.” Sam rises to moose-height, eyes softening to plead his case. “He’s got dad’s number. He left a voicemail. If he’s got dad’s number, then he’s got all of our information, too. But he’s not coming after us—”
“As far as we know.”
With a slight scoff of agreement, Sam continues, “Right. As far as we know. But look, he could’ve sicked a SWAT team on our asses and he didn’t. He has our numbers, so he has our location, and he’s not here. I’m not saying trust him, be stupid. I’m saying… we need to give him a chance, Dean. A very cautious chance.”
Dean straightens, incredulity raising his brows. “A chance. Give a fucking fed a chance. You hear yourself, right? You understand that’s a career-ending decision for us, right?”
Sam glances away, then back, forehead in wrinkles. “Yes. I know it sounds crazy. Just… trust me on this.”
“You know what Dad would say about this? The fact I’m even having this conversation with you?”
“I know.” The laptop closes with a quiet finality. “But we’re not Dad.”
Hand on hip, Dean grunts as he eyes his brother across the room. “Please don’t tell me it’s more fairies.”
Broad shoulders lift in a shrug, lips pressed thin as Sam says, “Wouldn’t know ‘til we take a look. If it is… we know how to gank them.”
Dean pivots back to his belongings. Hides behind the act of refolding the same shirt for the third time. “We’re not meeting him, Sammy, that’s final.”
“Alright.” With a tight jaw, Sam throws a glance at Dean with a raised brow. “…What if we check out the abduction site? See if we find anything strange, see if anything this Fox guy says is accurate. We can do that.”
“Sam…” A warning.
“We owe it to this missing lady—Dana—to at least look into it. Like any other case that someone calls us on. It’s important when someone calls that phone… It means they need help.”
To Be Continued…
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