Fic: Demons In His Apartment - PG13, XFiles/SPN, Mulder, Skinner, Bobby, Drama, Gen
Here's something I wrote back during the writing spree of early 2010, when I threw myself head first back into fic writing. A little Mulder dropping by Skinner's place to find him up to something odd, even for Skinner, along with a dude in a trucker hat. He never does get that Trucker Hat's name. XFiles/SPN, 688 words, for liptonrm!
Title: Demons In His Apartment
Author: dodger_sister
Fandom: The X-Files/Supernatural
Category: Crossover, Drama, General, SPN-Style
Characters/Pairing: Mulder, Skinner & Bobby Singer
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Exorcisms.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Mulder drops by Skinner’s apartment and realizes he doesn’t know anything about his boss at all.
Word Count: 688 words.
Date Written: 02/12/2010
Disclaimer: “The X-Files” belongs to Chris Carter and Fox. “Supernatural” belongs to Eric Kripke and The CW. I own nothing. Basically, literally.
Feedback: Bring it. dodger_sister / TheArtofDodger@comcast.net
Beta’d: Nope.
Author's Notes: Been a really long time since I wrote X-Files. I was working on writing a whole series of ‘if characters from other shows turned out to be hunters like on Supernatural’ fics and this was one of them. I really enjoyed referring to Bobby as ‘Trucker Hat’ here.
Dedication: For liptonrm, because Mulder ruined her for life - yeah, I know, he ruined you all. And I know, Lipton, that you secretly dream about Skinner and Bobby and Latin. In a geeky sort of way.
Mulder pounded on the door.
There was no answer. He knew it was late, looked at his watch.
Two am. Shit.
He pounded again anyway.
Mulder thought he could hear voices inside the apartment. He thought he could hear a strangled gurgling noise as well.
He felt oddly chilled.
It occurred to him that Skinner might be in trouble. And with that thought, Mulder picked the lock and let himself in.
Skinner was awake and fully dressed, but not in his normal weekday attire. Mulder followed the line of military boots, up to jeans and a blue Henley, covered by a black leather jacket. Skinner was standing in the middle of his living room with a flask in his hand. He kept tossing what looked like water on the…
Shit.
In the middle of the room, tied to Skinner’s desk chair, was a teenage girl, no more than seventeen. Her hair was matted, she was covered in sweat and Mulder was pretty sure there was dried blood on her shirt. She was screeching and gurgling and cussing blasphemous things that no girl her age should even know existed, let alone say.
Then Mulder noticed the other man, a little shorter than Skinner, wearing a hunting jacket and a trucker hat. He was holding open a book and reading from it in Latin, as he paced around the girl in a circle.
Mulder choked, tried to find his voice. Skinner just glared over at him and continued to toss water onto the girl, who cursed God and his precious little monkey children every time.
“Sir,” Mulder said, then stopped and choked again as a burning smell came off the girl’s skin. “What…what the hell?”
“Hell, for damn sure,” Trucker Hat muttered under his breath.
“Did you need something, Mulder?” Skinner asked, without looking over.
“I…the case. I needed to talk about…”
“Now is not a good time,” Skinner cut him off. “Go away, Mulder.”
Mulder found himself then, thought there must be a logical explanation, but right now he didn’t care. He took a step toward the girl, hand outstretched in a friendly manner. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Let me help you.”
Trucker Hat just kept reading from his book.
He took one more step before Skinner laid his hand, soft and yet forceful, onto Mulder’s shoulder. “Move any closer and I will lay you out, Mulder,” he said.
“And I’ll shoot you,” Trucker Hat told him matter-of-factly, before resuming his reading.
The girl laughed, deep and soft and hissed at Mulder. “Fox Mulder, Savior of the World. Aliens, aliens, aliens,” she crooned at him and Mulder tasted bile rising in his throat. “You don’t know a damn thing, boy.”
Skinner splashed her again and before Mulder could protest, he lost his voice.
The girl’s eyes were black and full and terrifying.
“That’s…that’s a demon,” Mulder whispered, his voice shakier than he would have liked.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Trucker Hat said and pointed up at the ceiling. Over the girl’s head was a devil’s trap painted with long, broad strokes. Mulder knew enough to recognize a devil’s trap when he saw one.
“You’re doing an exorcism?” he asked softly.
Trucker Hat laughed. “This is your Wonder Boy?”
“Mulder,” Skinner said and Mulder recognized the tone as nothing good. “The case, and this talk, can wait until Monday morning, in my office. We have to focus now. Please leave.”
Mulder started to protest, then thought about the last time Skinner had laid him out, noted the sidearm in Trucker Hat’s belt, and thought better of it.
He let himself out of the apartment and down onto the street. It was a cool night, which was good because Mulder felt hot and burning inside. Demons he could handle. But Skinner, in this light, with this secret life of his and what did Mulder ever really know about the man anyways?
In the end, Mulder spent Monday morning finishing up the case with The Lone Gunmen.
He never made that meeting with Skinner, never asked Skinner a damn thing about it all and he never, ever talked about that night with anyone.
Ever.
The End
Title: Demons In His Apartment
Author: dodger_sister
Fandom: The X-Files/Supernatural
Category: Crossover, Drama, General, SPN-Style
Characters/Pairing: Mulder, Skinner & Bobby Singer
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Exorcisms.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Mulder drops by Skinner’s apartment and realizes he doesn’t know anything about his boss at all.
Word Count: 688 words.
Date Written: 02/12/2010
Disclaimer: “The X-Files” belongs to Chris Carter and Fox. “Supernatural” belongs to Eric Kripke and The CW. I own nothing. Basically, literally.
Feedback: Bring it. dodger_sister / TheArtofDodger@comcast.net
Beta’d: Nope.
Author's Notes: Been a really long time since I wrote X-Files. I was working on writing a whole series of ‘if characters from other shows turned out to be hunters like on Supernatural’ fics and this was one of them. I really enjoyed referring to Bobby as ‘Trucker Hat’ here.
Dedication: For liptonrm, because Mulder ruined her for life - yeah, I know, he ruined you all. And I know, Lipton, that you secretly dream about Skinner and Bobby and Latin. In a geeky sort of way.
Mulder pounded on the door.
There was no answer. He knew it was late, looked at his watch.
Two am. Shit.
He pounded again anyway.
Mulder thought he could hear voices inside the apartment. He thought he could hear a strangled gurgling noise as well.
He felt oddly chilled.
It occurred to him that Skinner might be in trouble. And with that thought, Mulder picked the lock and let himself in.
Skinner was awake and fully dressed, but not in his normal weekday attire. Mulder followed the line of military boots, up to jeans and a blue Henley, covered by a black leather jacket. Skinner was standing in the middle of his living room with a flask in his hand. He kept tossing what looked like water on the…
Shit.
In the middle of the room, tied to Skinner’s desk chair, was a teenage girl, no more than seventeen. Her hair was matted, she was covered in sweat and Mulder was pretty sure there was dried blood on her shirt. She was screeching and gurgling and cussing blasphemous things that no girl her age should even know existed, let alone say.
Then Mulder noticed the other man, a little shorter than Skinner, wearing a hunting jacket and a trucker hat. He was holding open a book and reading from it in Latin, as he paced around the girl in a circle.
Mulder choked, tried to find his voice. Skinner just glared over at him and continued to toss water onto the girl, who cursed God and his precious little monkey children every time.
“Sir,” Mulder said, then stopped and choked again as a burning smell came off the girl’s skin. “What…what the hell?”
“Hell, for damn sure,” Trucker Hat muttered under his breath.
“Did you need something, Mulder?” Skinner asked, without looking over.
“I…the case. I needed to talk about…”
“Now is not a good time,” Skinner cut him off. “Go away, Mulder.”
Mulder found himself then, thought there must be a logical explanation, but right now he didn’t care. He took a step toward the girl, hand outstretched in a friendly manner. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Let me help you.”
Trucker Hat just kept reading from his book.
He took one more step before Skinner laid his hand, soft and yet forceful, onto Mulder’s shoulder. “Move any closer and I will lay you out, Mulder,” he said.
“And I’ll shoot you,” Trucker Hat told him matter-of-factly, before resuming his reading.
The girl laughed, deep and soft and hissed at Mulder. “Fox Mulder, Savior of the World. Aliens, aliens, aliens,” she crooned at him and Mulder tasted bile rising in his throat. “You don’t know a damn thing, boy.”
Skinner splashed her again and before Mulder could protest, he lost his voice.
The girl’s eyes were black and full and terrifying.
“That’s…that’s a demon,” Mulder whispered, his voice shakier than he would have liked.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Trucker Hat said and pointed up at the ceiling. Over the girl’s head was a devil’s trap painted with long, broad strokes. Mulder knew enough to recognize a devil’s trap when he saw one.
“You’re doing an exorcism?” he asked softly.
Trucker Hat laughed. “This is your Wonder Boy?”
“Mulder,” Skinner said and Mulder recognized the tone as nothing good. “The case, and this talk, can wait until Monday morning, in my office. We have to focus now. Please leave.”
Mulder started to protest, then thought about the last time Skinner had laid him out, noted the sidearm in Trucker Hat’s belt, and thought better of it.
He let himself out of the apartment and down onto the street. It was a cool night, which was good because Mulder felt hot and burning inside. Demons he could handle. But Skinner, in this light, with this secret life of his and what did Mulder ever really know about the man anyways?
In the end, Mulder spent Monday morning finishing up the case with The Lone Gunmen.
He never made that meeting with Skinner, never asked Skinner a damn thing about it all and he never, ever talked about that night with anyone.
Ever.
The End