This is my very first fanfic. I hope you like it!
Many stories begin, Once upon a time. Others start, Over a hill. Most of them are, Far away.
He wishes he was in one of those stories now.
Because all of them end, Happily ever after.
He wonders if Scully's parents read her fairy tales at bedtime and if it left her with an unreliable sense of justice, too. If she's also tried to trace the steps which, according to all lore and mythology, should lead on to victory. According to the scribe, it is a simple process, one that can be followed by anyone. Preferably the third son. Man with right in his heart and might in his arm goes to fight the dragon. Dragon dies. Man wins. Man eats sunflower seeds and marries princess.
He really wishes he was in one of those stories now. Not from cowardice; he is brave enough to face whatever happens now and whoever causes it. Not from boredom either, even though he'd gladly sleep on his wiretapping shifts. Not even from the desire to settle down with the right princess.
It is just that those stories gave you the conviction that dragons could be slayed. All it needed was consistent courage, which FBI-agents have in abundance. Came with the badge. A fairy tale victory was as easy as picking up a sword and choosing which end to poke the dragon with. Fairy tale dragons did not cling to life. Did not plot to steal your partner or your sister. Did not attempt to destroy you by driving you slowly insane with the boredom of mundane missions and the paranoia of murders, both attempted and carried through.
And fairy tales make it easy to identify dragons. You know who your enemies are, when you've taken up your sword and your shield. You know how to defend yourself, how to sidestep the fury of a thwarted monster. You know and you win.
But he knows now that courage to slay the dragon is not enough. Conviction alone cannot carry you. Knowledge can kill you.
Dragons, in this world, do not die. They just adopt better disguises. They have shed their scales and transformed into colleagues and coworkers. And so the sign saying 'here be dragons' do not belong at the end of the world; it belongs on the edge of each door, an endless warning of dangers knowing no end. Because there will be dragons who smoke black-lunged death at you, bespectacled salamanders who assign you unnecessary cases, little lying lizards all over the office. Taking up your sword and charging does not defeat them; it only leaves you, exposed, waving your arms while others watch in bewilderment.
Some days, you don't remember if you are the prince or the dragon.