Fanfic: Looking for Salt (Supernatural/X-Files crossover; Gen, PG-13) 3/3
Looking For Salt (3/3)
an X-Files/Supernatural crossover
by dotfic
Rating: PG-13 for language and zombies
Continuity: Set between Home and Asylum.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the soon-to-be-formed CW network.
Summary: Sam, Dean, Mulder, Scully, and zombies. Lots of zombies. Any questions?
A/N: Thank you to cadhla for advice on zombies and the uses of table salt, for writing her wonderfully funny Supernatural story The Late Late Late Show, and for giving me permission to riff on it here. To batyatoon who made a number of hilarious and poignant suggestions. To beta readers meko00 for her insight, support, and X-Files checking, and to mtgat for pulling my writing bacon out of the fire more times than I can count.
Wikipedia is easy to search. I make no guarantees about the accuracy of the information used herein.
This is a follow up to my previous story Stopping for Pancakes.
Part III: The absence of pancakes
"You should talk to him. Both of them. Tell them about Jess."
"I can't."
Seated across from Sam in the booth in the farthest corner of the diner, Dean fisted his hand and bumped it on the table. "Sammy. He says this has probably happened to other people -- he and Scully are some kind of...experts on the supernatural. Not like Dad, not hunters. Scientists. I think you can trust him."
"It's not that." Sam fiddled with the empty napkin holder. "I just...I can't talk about Jess."
"Then let me tell him for you."
"I dunno, Dean."
"Don't you want to find out why these things happened? What happened to Mom?"
"Of course." Sam's hair flopped into his eyes. "All right. I'll tell them if you're there listening."
So all four them sat in a booth together at 3:56 a.m. while Sam talked about cookies, and a girl with thousand-kilowatt smile, and drops of blood, and fire. Sam's voice shook a little, his eyes turning bright.
Dean knew not to touch him or offer comfort, because then his brother would start to weep in front of strangers, which would mortify him. So instead he did what he used to do when they were little kids. He started poking Sam in the arm over and over.
"Knock it off," Sam said and kept on talking. Seconds later Dean poked him again. "I said, cut it out!"
Now his brother's face was angry, the tears drying up faster than water on hot asphalt.
"Poke," said Dean, and did. Sam turned in his seat and tried to shove Dean out of the booth.
"Boys!" Scully said, and they froze in mid-tussle. "Settle down." Then her eyes caught Dean's, and he realized she knew exactly what he'd just done.
"I hate to be the one to point this out," Mulder said, when Sam had finished. "But Sam...so far Sam's the common link between the two deaths."
"What are you talking about?" Dean gripped the edge of the table with both hands.
"Sam was present as an infant at his mother's death, and he was in the room when Jessica died. I don't know if it necessarily means anything or not."
Mulder must have seen the look that passed between Sam and Dean because he tilted his head to one side, and added, "Is there anything else you're not telling me?"
"I've had dreams," Sam muttered, slumping in his seat. "Seeing things before they happen."
Dean didn't at all like the look Mulder gave Sam -- like a scientist eyeing a lab specimen. "Okay!" Dean said cheerily. "I think that's enough interrogation for one night. Who's up for pancakes? Oh, right." He smacked his forehead. "There's no food in this diner."
"There isn't even any coffee in this diner." Scully put her forehead down on the table.
"Look on the bright side," Sam said, peering out the window.
"What's that?"
"The zombies are back."
But it was just an hour and a half to the desert dawn, and there were only six zombies left. Mulder put an axe through one. Scully shot off the head of the second and third. Dean took out two at once with a gun in each hand.
"That makes twelve for me," he said, and blew across the barrel of one handgun, then the other.
"Thirteen," Sam shouted, and he shot the last zombie as it tried to crawl over the jukebox through the broken door.
"Aw, crap," said Dean.
"That's two weeks of laundry," Sam said.
"We said one week."
"We said two."
"One."
"Two."
"Idiot."
"Jerk."
With the zombies gone, Mulder and Scully managed to get to their SUV. They offered Sam and Dean a lift to the nearest gas station, where they hired a tow truck.
Before they drove off, while Scully and Sam spread a map over the hood of the SUV and studied it, Mulder scribbled a number on a piece of paper and handed it to Dean. "Call if you need help," said Mulder.
"We won't." Dean glanced at Sam and Scully, as the morning sun flashed off the windshield, making him squint. "Can I ask you something?" Dean said, fingering the piece of paper. "What happened to you?"
There was a long pause before Mulder finally answered. "When I was a child my little sister was taken away by something that for decades I could not explain." His voice was expressionless. "It happened while my parents were out for the evening. It was my job to look after her and I failed."
"Did you ever find out --" Dean began.
Mulder didn't let him finish. "Yes. She's dead."
I'm sorry seemed so ridiculously inadequate. "What was her name?"
"Samantha."
"What's that?" Sam asked. He turned his head, leaning tiredly against the passenger-side door as the Impala roared along Route 60.
Dean fingered the piece of paper in his right hand. "It's Mulder's phone number. I dunno." He crumpled the piece of paper and let it drop to the floor of the car. "Kind of a weird guy, wasn't he?"
"Nah. He was cool." Sam closed his eyes. "You liked Scully a lot, didn't you?"
Dean coughed.
"Dean, she's married."
"So? She might get tired of him," Dean said.
"Yeah, right." Sam snorted.
Dean put both hands on the wheel, watching the morning highway, at the yellow line unspooling like a ribbon ahead of him. After a moment his brother's breaths grew slow and even, and Dean knew Sam was out. The radio station switched to Jimmy Buffet. Dean wanted to change to something else but didn't want to wake Sam.
Wastin’ away again in margaritaville
Searching for my lost shaker of salt...
After a few miles, Dean reached down and found the piece of crumpled paper by his boot. He remembered the expression on Mulder's face when he told Dean about his sister.
He tucked the piece of paper into his front jeans pocket. Later, he'd probably program it into the cell phone. Maybe.
Besides -- the phone number was the only way he'd ever find the red-head again.
END
Lyrics to "Margaritaville" by Jimmy Buffet
Part I
Part II
an X-Files/Supernatural crossover
by dotfic
Rating: PG-13 for language and zombies
Continuity: Set between Home and Asylum.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the soon-to-be-formed CW network.
Summary: Sam, Dean, Mulder, Scully, and zombies. Lots of zombies. Any questions?
A/N: Thank you to cadhla for advice on zombies and the uses of table salt, for writing her wonderfully funny Supernatural story The Late Late Late Show, and for giving me permission to riff on it here. To batyatoon who made a number of hilarious and poignant suggestions. To beta readers meko00 for her insight, support, and X-Files checking, and to mtgat for pulling my writing bacon out of the fire more times than I can count.
Wikipedia is easy to search. I make no guarantees about the accuracy of the information used herein.
This is a follow up to my previous story Stopping for Pancakes.
Part III: The absence of pancakes
"You should talk to him. Both of them. Tell them about Jess."
"I can't."
Seated across from Sam in the booth in the farthest corner of the diner, Dean fisted his hand and bumped it on the table. "Sammy. He says this has probably happened to other people -- he and Scully are some kind of...experts on the supernatural. Not like Dad, not hunters. Scientists. I think you can trust him."
"It's not that." Sam fiddled with the empty napkin holder. "I just...I can't talk about Jess."
"Then let me tell him for you."
"I dunno, Dean."
"Don't you want to find out why these things happened? What happened to Mom?"
"Of course." Sam's hair flopped into his eyes. "All right. I'll tell them if you're there listening."
So all four them sat in a booth together at 3:56 a.m. while Sam talked about cookies, and a girl with thousand-kilowatt smile, and drops of blood, and fire. Sam's voice shook a little, his eyes turning bright.
Dean knew not to touch him or offer comfort, because then his brother would start to weep in front of strangers, which would mortify him. So instead he did what he used to do when they were little kids. He started poking Sam in the arm over and over.
"Knock it off," Sam said and kept on talking. Seconds later Dean poked him again. "I said, cut it out!"
Now his brother's face was angry, the tears drying up faster than water on hot asphalt.
"Poke," said Dean, and did. Sam turned in his seat and tried to shove Dean out of the booth.
"Boys!" Scully said, and they froze in mid-tussle. "Settle down." Then her eyes caught Dean's, and he realized she knew exactly what he'd just done.
"I hate to be the one to point this out," Mulder said, when Sam had finished. "But Sam...so far Sam's the common link between the two deaths."
"What are you talking about?" Dean gripped the edge of the table with both hands.
"Sam was present as an infant at his mother's death, and he was in the room when Jessica died. I don't know if it necessarily means anything or not."
Mulder must have seen the look that passed between Sam and Dean because he tilted his head to one side, and added, "Is there anything else you're not telling me?"
"I've had dreams," Sam muttered, slumping in his seat. "Seeing things before they happen."
Dean didn't at all like the look Mulder gave Sam -- like a scientist eyeing a lab specimen. "Okay!" Dean said cheerily. "I think that's enough interrogation for one night. Who's up for pancakes? Oh, right." He smacked his forehead. "There's no food in this diner."
"There isn't even any coffee in this diner." Scully put her forehead down on the table.
"Look on the bright side," Sam said, peering out the window.
"What's that?"
"The zombies are back."
But it was just an hour and a half to the desert dawn, and there were only six zombies left. Mulder put an axe through one. Scully shot off the head of the second and third. Dean took out two at once with a gun in each hand.
"That makes twelve for me," he said, and blew across the barrel of one handgun, then the other.
"Thirteen," Sam shouted, and he shot the last zombie as it tried to crawl over the jukebox through the broken door.
"Aw, crap," said Dean.
"That's two weeks of laundry," Sam said.
"We said one week."
"We said two."
"One."
"Two."
"Idiot."
"Jerk."
With the zombies gone, Mulder and Scully managed to get to their SUV. They offered Sam and Dean a lift to the nearest gas station, where they hired a tow truck.
Before they drove off, while Scully and Sam spread a map over the hood of the SUV and studied it, Mulder scribbled a number on a piece of paper and handed it to Dean. "Call if you need help," said Mulder.
"We won't." Dean glanced at Sam and Scully, as the morning sun flashed off the windshield, making him squint. "Can I ask you something?" Dean said, fingering the piece of paper. "What happened to you?"
There was a long pause before Mulder finally answered. "When I was a child my little sister was taken away by something that for decades I could not explain." His voice was expressionless. "It happened while my parents were out for the evening. It was my job to look after her and I failed."
"Did you ever find out --" Dean began.
Mulder didn't let him finish. "Yes. She's dead."
I'm sorry seemed so ridiculously inadequate. "What was her name?"
"Samantha."
"What's that?" Sam asked. He turned his head, leaning tiredly against the passenger-side door as the Impala roared along Route 60.
Dean fingered the piece of paper in his right hand. "It's Mulder's phone number. I dunno." He crumpled the piece of paper and let it drop to the floor of the car. "Kind of a weird guy, wasn't he?"
"Nah. He was cool." Sam closed his eyes. "You liked Scully a lot, didn't you?"
Dean coughed.
"Dean, she's married."
"So? She might get tired of him," Dean said.
"Yeah, right." Sam snorted.
Dean put both hands on the wheel, watching the morning highway, at the yellow line unspooling like a ribbon ahead of him. After a moment his brother's breaths grew slow and even, and Dean knew Sam was out. The radio station switched to Jimmy Buffet. Dean wanted to change to something else but didn't want to wake Sam.
Wastin’ away again in margaritaville
Searching for my lost shaker of salt...
After a few miles, Dean reached down and found the piece of crumpled paper by his boot. He remembered the expression on Mulder's face when he told Dean about his sister.
He tucked the piece of paper into his front jeans pocket. Later, he'd probably program it into the cell phone. Maybe.
Besides -- the phone number was the only way he'd ever find the red-head again.
END
Lyrics to "Margaritaville" by Jimmy Buffet
Part I
Part II