Beta: mylifewithin – THANK YOU!
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the WB. No malicious intent was in effect during the writing of this non-profit fic for entertainment only. The XFiles are not mine either and last I knew belonged to the power at FOX network. My apologies to both.
It was a miserable day, rainy and overcast. Dean and Sam huddled in the car trying to keep the damp chill from penetrating their bones. Sam was covered up in the backseat slipping on and off. The occasional lightning that lit up the sky mesmerized Dean.
He jumped at the tap at the window. Dean spun around with cross in hand to face the intruder when he saw the perplexed look of the man in the suit at the window. With a bad feeling in his stomach, Dean rolled down the window. "Yeah?"
"Are you Dean Winchester?" the man asked. He was standing under a large black umbrella that matched his suit. Every inch of him screamed 'Fed'. Dean was about to do some fancy lying, when Sam suddenly appeared over the seat of the car, still wiping the sleep from him eyes.
"Yeah, what did he do this time?" Sam asked between yawns.
Dean winced. "Thanks bro," his voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Actually gentlemen it's what he didn't do -ever," the man in the suit said. "My name is Richards. I'm with the Internal Revenue Service and it would appear that your brother his not paid his taxes. I'll need you to come with me sir." He opened the car door, stopping any chance that Dean had of starting the car and flooring it.
Mr. Richards gave Dean a knowing grin; evidently he'd expected that sort of move. Sam was sputtered. "You haven't been filing your taxes!?"
Dean's lips went taut. "We have been a bit BUSY Sam!" The two brother's climbed out of the car.
"Your presence is not required," Mr. Richards looked pointedly at Sam.
"The car Sam," Dean reminded him between clenched teeth. Another suited IRS official was at his other side and they were pushing him toward a black car with federal tags on it.
Sam nodded numbly. "But Dean, what do I do?"
"Just follow us," Dean said as he was put into the car. Sam gulped, slid in behind the wheel, shook off as much water as he could and followed the other car.
"I wonder what's worse?" Sam grumbled out loud. "Demons or the I.R.S.?"
An hour later, Sam found himself in a busy office building. The fluorescent lights were blinding and he was uncomfortably aware of how he stuck out like a sore thumb among all the office workers. He was waiting outside a room, which he was told eventually Dean would be brought to for his official audit. Sam didn't know what Dean was going through right now, but had a funny feeling it was something along the lines of being booked. After all he did hear mentions of a possible arrest.
He fiddled with his cuff sleeve, his jeans, and flicked a chunk of mud off his boots. After what seemed like forever Dean came around the corner still being escorted. Mr. Richards was looking rather smug. He looked down his nose at Sam and the mud tracks all over the previously pristine white tiled floors. "I suppose you want to join your brother?"
Sam shot to his feet. Dean and Sam were ushered in to the plain white office. A desk sat between the Winchester brothers and Mr. Richards, covered in neat stacks of papers. Pulling a file from a nearby file cabinet Mr. Richards shook his head. "Care to explain why you have not filed taxes, but your brother Sam here could?"
Dean looked at his brother in a mixture of betrayal and disbelief. "What the hell did you put down as an occupation?"
Sam's cheeks turned a bit pink. "Um, exterminators?"
Dean's eyebrows hit his forehead. Then his head rocked back and forth as he digested the information. "Hmm, wish I had thought of that." Sam preened under the backhanded praise.
Sensing something more was amiss than meets the eye, Mr. Richards leaned forward over the oak behemoth of a desk. "What exactly do you exterminate? Since I take it that you do this 'extermination' together."
"Pests," said Sam quickly.
"Demons." Dean grinned lazily.
"Which is it?" Mr. Richards asked as he tried to fill out a form.
"A combination of the two really," Dean chuckled.
"Right," Mr. Richards filled in something on his form and looked back up. "How much money do you earn each year?"
"None," Dean sighed. "It's not like people even know about the existence of demons. They don't pay us."
"The Anderson's gave us dinner," Sam smiled back at the home cooked dinner they'd had just last night for vanquishing a low-level demon from the couple's home.
"True," Dean sprawled out in his chair enjoying the look of consternation on Mr. Richards face.
"How do you support yourself?" Mr. Richards looked at them both warily.
"Hustling pool, cards, darts, betting – all depends on the crowd." Dean smirked.
"He's really good at it too!" Sam exclaimed with brotherly pride.
Mr. Richards put the paper down. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you trying to tell me that you hunt down demons and live off of illegal gambling to support this…this so-called-job of yours?"
"Yep," Dean said brazenly. Sam squirmed in his seat, mumbling something about having to put down his income as 'other' when he filed his own taxes. Dean looked amused. "It's a family business, after they killed mom."
"Demons. Killed. Your. Mother." Mr. Richards shook his head. "Look this is a serious matter. I am not sure that you believe exactly how serious it is. Tax evasion is a Federal Offense!"
His phone rang and he shot to his feet after a moment as if to salute. "Director Skinner! Yes sir. Yes sir. No sir, we haven't filled out the tax forms yet and I can't possibly let you-. Yes sir. No sir, I understand."
Mr. Richards sat down, shut his phone, laid it on the desk and stared at it for a minute. Dean and Sam exchanged looks of concern. Sam leaned over to scold his big brother and Dean leaned over to defend his actions at the same time, when the door opened.
"Mr. Richards, there's an Agent Mulder here to see you." A pale looking young man in a black suit informed them all.
With a look of pure loathing at his guests, Mr. Richards stood back up smoothing his hands over non-existent wrinkles in his suit. A tall man with a friendly smile sauntered in with a put-upon looking petite red-haired woman at his side. "Mr. Richards. I'm Agent Mulder and this is Agent Skinner of the FBI." They all politely shook hands.
"I'm taking over this case," Agent Mulder announced without further delay, "I'm sure Director Skinner called?"
"Yes," Mr. Richards hissed. "But I should let you know these two are either mentally unstable or-"
"That's enough, thank you Mr. Richards," Agent Scully cut him off effectively. Dean turned to look at Sam with a raised eyebrow. Scully closed the door behind Richards.
Mulder plopped down into the chair recently vacated by Mr. Richards, "God what a dick." Dean and Sam grinned at each other the tension rolling off them in waves.
"Mulder," Scully scolded with a smile twitching to take over her face.
Mulder leaned forward. "Hey guys. Sorry we got here so late. We knew they were closing in on you, but they beat us to the punch. Nice work at the Anderson's by the way." Mulder smiled. "You can call me Mulder or Fox, whichever you prefer." He stretched a long arm over the desk and shook their hands.
"Dana Scully," the red head introduced herself, but after further examination of there state of attire simply nodded her head with a smile.
"So are we in trouble with the FBI?" Sam asked in a shaky voice. Dean patted him on the arm.
"I'd like to know how you know about the Anderson's. But this tax gripe, it's me you want, leave Sam out of this," Dean said protectively.
Fox and Scully shared a smile. Then Fox turned his attention back to the brothers. "Actually we wanted to thank you both for all the hard work you've done. We are with a branch of the FBI that even the FBI doesn't want to know about called the X-Files. I guess you could say we do the same work for a living except we get paid for it." Fox smiled.
Scully's phone rang and she walked over to the corner to speak privately into it, leaving the three alone to speak quietly.
"You exterminate demons?" Dean asked with a frown on his face, disbelief clear upon it.
"That and other little gems, I'd love to talk to you guys over a few beers sometime. Oh and this tax thing? It's all swept under the rug. Consider yourselves tax exempt." Mulder leaned forward handing them small tax-exempt ID cards.
"Cool," Sam beamed. Dean nodded, but was unsure. Despite Sam's obvious belief that all was now well, Dean wasn't so easily swayed. "How much is this going to cost us? What do we have to do?"
"Dean," Sam hissed kicking his brother's foot.
Fox smiled, pulling out a manila envelope from his coat. Scully finished her call and after saying a brief goodbye to Dean and Sam made a jerking motion with her head for Mulder to follow. Fox sighed and rose to his feet. He handed the envelope to Dean who with a dirty look at Mulder opened it. Out slid high-definition glossy 8x10's of him and Sam having sex. "Oh god Dean," Sam gasped.
Dean stood; as did Sam and he pulled Sam into his arms protectively. "Fine, so you know. I repeat what do you want?"
Fox beamed. "I was hoping you'd let me keep a copy for myself." He pulled out another envelope, fingering it lovingly. "You guys are pretty hot. I've destroyed the negatives and all records of them, but I'd like to keep these."
Dean began to laugh as Sam sputtered in embarrassment. "This is our set then?" Dean asked hopefully.
"Yeah, we got a deal?" Mulder asked giving them both the eye fuck once over.
"You bet," Dean shook his head and then Mulder's hand. "Hey, if we need a hand can we call you?"
"I can't guarantee I'll be available. Our case load keeps us hopping." He leaned forward to whisper, "And Scully gets pretty freaked by the whole demon thing. She prefers aliens and Bigfoot, that sort of thing. That's why we let 'exterminators' like you 'freelance.' I'm surprised you never wondered who cleans up the dead bodies."
Sam hugged Dean hard as Dean smiled honestly at Mulder over his head. Taking a card from Mulder, Dean watched him go. He held onto Sam a moment longer. "Wow, I never saw that coming."
"I can't believe you didn't file your taxes!" Sam playfully punched Dean before kissing him, glad for the blinds on the windows.
"Hey, it all worked out." Dean shrugged. They made their way out to the car and sat in disbelief in the darkness a bit. "At least the rain stopped."
"How can you just shrug this off? We could have been in real trouble Dean!" Sam yelled.
"Two things in life you can't avoid - death and taxes," Dean muttered. Sam shook his head. "Well so much for taxes," Dean turned the ignition and car roared to life. They quietly mused what their chances were of surviving their occupation.
Breaking the suddenly tense silence Sam whispered, "I can't believe he wanted our photos." Sam felt the heat rise to his cheeks again.
Dean leered at his brother. "That's easy to believe. But that we are now tax-exempt, have friends in the FBI and that there are others like us out there fighting too? That's what I have a hard time swallowing."
Sam leaned against the cool glass of the window for a few moments. "You never had a hard time swallowing before." He turning toward Dean, he gave him a teasing, heated look.
Dean smiled widely. He loved when Sam got like this. "Easy, Uncle Sam is watching."
Sam chuckled. "Sick old bastard, still," he looked around nervously," let's get a room tonight."
Dean laughed, gunned the engine and sped down the highway, toward their future – together.
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