Work Text:
I Believe
by Sam-Tony
He was cleaning out his office. His books, notes and case files, neatly packed in one box. His few knickknacks, supplies, reference numbers, contacts he didn‘t want to lose, etcetera packed in another.
And…that was it. No large legacy left with him. Only the truth. Only the guilt at another failure, the frustration at yet another case unsolved because it didn’t fit the FBI’s narrow mold of normal. Not a coverup, not this time, no.
Just another Xfile.
So he was cleaning out his office. The one in the basement. The one no one ever came to. Until now.
Uncoiling from his lean against the open doorway, Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets, his head bent, sheepish frown on his face as he offered almost apologetically, “I heard.”
Mulder just snorted softly and shook his head. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. No one’s but his, he supposed. But at least now he *knew* there were things out there in the dark. Like zombies. Like demons. Maybe like aliens.
To say he was surprised by the hug would be an understatement. Had to admit though that the strong muscled body folded around him felt good, lending him a strength he hadn’t had for himself now in way too long.
“Keep the poster, “ Sam whispered into his ear. “It’ll remind you of who you are.”
“And who might that be?” Mulder wondered. He was no longer FBI, kicked out for one crackpot theory too many. Didn’t matter that he had been right, for all the wrong reasons. Again.
“A hunter. Like Dean. Like me.”
Mulder felt the tears fall, smiling through them at the sure knowledge Sam had something similar packed away in a duffle somewhere, just out of his brother’s reach. Something silly, something innocuous, something…like him.
“Geek.” Mulder laughed fondly.
“I tell him that all the time.”
They unwound enough so that Mulder could see Dean just inside the doorway, the older Winchester’s arms folded across his chest, smirk on his face and something else in his eyes. Something…older. Like Sam, only harder. Experience maybe.
The moment broken, they pulled apart, Sam taking the heavier box of books and other materials Mulder was allowed to keep and didn’t want to leave behind. But only after a pointed look at the poster - the UFO and naïve slogan I Want To Believe blazoned across the front - was gently taken down and placed in the box Mulder carried out himself.
Arms free of boxes, Dean led the charge out of the FBI, green eyes staring down anyone who might dare say anything to their fallen colleague, their very own little anti-mascot, Fox ‘Spooky’ Mulder. Sam brought up the rear, identical set of green eyes equally hard and taking out any chance of a paper ball, rubber band - or worse - from behind, while Mulder…Mulder strode confidently in the middle, thinking about what Sam had said.
A hunter. Not FBI, but still taking on the cases, the jobs, no one else would. Maybe he would hang the poster in his apartment - to remind him of what he used to be and maybe still was. Someone who defended the innocent. Who sought out the truth. Someone -
“A geek,” Dean whispered in his ear, and suddenly Mulder realized they were out of the basement and into the bright spring sunshine of the parking lot, Dean’s Impala parked next to Mulder’s very grey sedan. The analogy was not lost on him, either one of them.
He had to get a new car.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at his grey car before Dean took the box out of his hands and put it in he trunk - of the Impala.
One look at the brother’s identical expressions, at the look they tossed between them and Mulder felt something other than darkness and fog for the first time since the demon had killed the Moran’s daughter right in front of him. And that had been after he had emptied two full clips into its chest.
“Leave it,” Dean told him.
“You have questions, we have answers,” Sam added, those puppy dog eyes offering incentive. Like he would turn either of them down. The brothers or their answers. Mulder smiled. Guess he was a geek.
“And beer,” Dean suddenly threw him a grin. “And pie.”
“We’ll have to stop for pie,” Sam denied.
“No pie?” For a moment Dean looked crushed. And accusingly at his brother, who just rolled his eyes and offered, “We’ll get cherry.”
“We already have cherry, “ Dean smirked, looking at Mulder in the backseat through the rearview mirror.
And again, even though he was sitting a car with two brothers wanted by the very FBI he used to be for everything from grave-robbing to murder, there was a sense of rightness bubbling up that Mulder hadn’t felt in days, months, years even, that had him catching those eyes in the mirror - catching Sam’s as the younger man turned in his seat, the two of them shaking their heads at the man pulling out of the parking lot into a DC rush hour, agreeing cheerfully, “Geek.”
End