There was a moment that they both stood on the small front porch of Sharron Howard's townhouse and stared silently at the green space that boarded the building. It was a work day, and the neighborhood was fairly quiet. There was the sound of a dog barking a couple of doors away and a car turned onto the street down the block.
Dean Winchester stood there with his hands loose but visible. He and Mulder were about of the same height but the other man was broader in shoulder and had the muscle mass to back it up. His suit was clean and free of wrinkles, but the fit was just a bit too tight in the shoulders. Hard to get a good fit when buying off the rack.
"I do want to talk," Mulder commented. It seemed the safe thing to say. While he hadn't exactly expected to run into the Winchester brothers on this job, he also couldn't say he was surprised. Weird was their calling card, after all.
Dean grunted, shifting on his feet and moving just a little bit farther away. "I don't do talking well."
"You don't say," Mulder replied, unable to resist the dry humor even if it wasn't terribly productive. He had a wanted felon cooling his heels right in front of him. The same mystery he'd been poking at like a sore tooth ever since they first crossed paths. He'd been hoping for a chance like this, but it was hard to know where to start. There were signs that the Winchester brothers clearly believed in the occult, but everything about them was so maddeningly inconsistent.
The one firm thing Mulder had at the moment was the body Scully was busy documenting.
If Dean wanted to be blunt, then Mulder could be blunt.
"Did you kill Bill Haymond?" he asked as politely as if he was asking what time it was or if this seat was taken. Dean seemed to be a highly functioning whatever-he-was and had a history of interacting seamlessly with the rest of society. There was no reason to think the question would set him off, but then again, he was accused of violently killing a lot of people. Polite seemed a good place to start.
Dean didn't seem offended. He just snorted. "No."
Which was the expected response, sure. And Mulder might even believe him. It wouldn't be the first time he'd found someone struggling against something bigger and darker than the rest of the world was ready for. But it was equally possible Dean Winchester was every kind of crazy Scully thought he was. Even worse, it was possible it was neither of those. "Do you know who did?" he asked. Because that was the other possibility and this was probably his best chance to ask Dean without his brother influencing him.
But even that question didn't seem to register much. Dean shrugged. He had turned a bit more inward to face Mulder, but he was still studiously avoiding eye contact. Mulder didn't doubt for a second Dean was watching his every move, but he was still evading anything resembling engagement. "Not yet," he grumbled, looking annoyed and agitated and restless.
It was a look Mulder knew from personal experience. He raised his eyebrows, trying to show only polite interest nothing more. Apparently, Dean and Sam Winchester didn't just dress up like FBI agents to avoid being arrested. Apparently, he really had been interviewing Sharron Howard as a witness. "Who do you think did?" he asked, desperate to find out more about how that brain of his was working.
But Dean was still reticent. He only shrugged this time.
Which told Mulder absolutely nothing. The conversation had already gone on much longer than Mulder had anticipated, but this was also probably the only chance he had at getting the truth. He couldn't afford not to take advantage of it.
Maybe it was time to try getting at this a bit sideways. "You wouldn't happen to know ancient Hebrew, would you?" he asked.
It wasn't the expected question and it was successful at getting Dean to look straight at him for a moment. "Do I look like the kind of guy who does?" he demanded.
Which was a very good question. Sure, the suit might make him look a bit like a professional, but Mulder had also seen him fresh off of the road before. He had a fairly good idea of what kind of man Dean looked like. But he took a moment to pointedly look him over before replying. "Kind of," he said before smirking.
Dean scowled back. "I didn't kill that guy."
"Then why are you here, Dean?"
And that was enough to get Mulder the reaction he was looking for. Dean's face flushed quickly. His fists clenched but didn't go for the gun Mulder knew he had to have. And instead of continuing to slowly slink away off the porch the way he had been, Dean stepped forward until he was in Mulder's face. "Look, whatever killed that guy might try killing her. And no, it ain't me or my brother. If she didn't have anything to do with causing what happened to him, then there's a good chance whatever it was might come after her. It's as good a place to start with as any."
Which was all very logical and much more focused on why Sharron Howard was valuable than Dean defending himself or his brother. Dean didn't claim to have an alibi. Barely even disputed the implication that he might have had something to do with Bill Haymond's death. In fact, he didn't even seem that worried that Bill Haymond was dead at all – only that Sharron Howard might be killed too.
"Dean," Mulder tried, keeping his voice as level and calm and not excited as he could. "Who or what do you think might have done it?"
Because that was the big question. The one he'd want to know the answer to from the first time he saw both brothers in that diner. There was something out there that they were tangled up in – or at least something they believed was out there. It was the only explanation that fit each of the little disjointed pieces of their life that was full of bizarre and violent crime. Scully might look at them and see trauma and uncontrolled and unreasoned urges. But Mulder saw a focus that wasn't constrained by arbitrary rules. It was ritualized, certainly, but not in the obsessively compulsory way common in true sociopaths. And if they weren't sociopaths, then it left the very interesting question of what were they.
Dean breathed in deeply, his face pinched. He made an abortive gesture as if he wanted to shove his hands in his pockets but then thought better of it. "I really don't think you're ready for that one, buddy," he muttered and it was perhaps the friendliest thing to come out of his mouth.
It wasn't his fault that it was probably the most offensive thing a person could say to Mulder. It went beyond just the insanity of trying to decide for other people what they were and were not ready for or the gross injustice of keeping something significant enough to kill people a secret. The worst part was that if there was anyone in the world who was ready, it was Mulder. Apparently, he hadn't been doing a good enough job at communicating that, though he couldn't possibly understand why the message wasn't getting through loud and clear.
But he was stubborn and not about to give up now. He gritted his teeth, plastered on his best 'I dare you' smile and replied "try me."
Dean stared at him. It was a calm stare, a bit suspicious but tightly controlled. As if Dean didn't care at all what Mulder thought. It was somewhat intimidating in how professional and detached it was. Mulder had worked with all sorts of different people over the years from military to scientists to fringe elements. Most people, by the time Mulder got there, were already worked up enough that at least some of the stress showed, even if it was just peeking through the cracks.
He could only think of a few exceptions and the comparison was not a favorable one. They tended to be sitting at large imposing desks on the other side from Mulder and held far more of the cards than was fair.
But then Dean grinned slowly, with the kind of easy charm and mischief of someone used to talking his ways in and out of things. "Okay, champ," he drawled. He dropped down a step from Mulder and turned to face him. "A demon named Lilith is trying to break what are called seals. This is usually done by killing someone violently or something else equally horrific. If she manages to break enough of them, she'll be able to start the apocalypse by unleashing Lucifer using my brother as the antichrist." Dean scowled at that but kept rambling on. "We're pretty sure this mess here is one of those seals because an angel told us so. But don't worry, he's not as much of a bastard as most of the rest of his feathered friends. Most of the time. I'm pretty sure," he muttered, for the first time looking uncertain. But then the grin was back, sharp and sarcastic. "Questions? Yeah, I didn't think so."
Mulder opened his mouth to argue. He had questions. He had lots of questions! The problem was more where to start. How many seals had been broken? How did Dean and Sam know what was a seal and what wasn't? Did they have a record of the seals that were broken? Who was Lilith and how had they found her? Angels? Angels that Dean didn't like and why would that be the part that had him muttering and looking unsure and worried? And that bit about Sam…that was probably the hardest to understand. It didn't fit anything he had put together on the two brothers. Dean was fiercely protective, a trait that made sense given their background. Painting Sam as a negative force was the very last thing Mulder would have expected Dean to believe – much less admit to an outside who might be a threat to his brother.
The worst part was Scully's theory that both of them were insane was looking a bit more likely.
But it didn't explain everything…but it did suggest Dean Winchester was not going to be the great reliable source of information Mulder had been hoping for.
And Dean wasn't going to wait for him to articulate any of that. He cut Mulder off before he could even get started. "So let me tell you what I do know you'll understand. There's only so many ways our situation here can go," he said, gesturing to the two of them. "You can try to arrest me. And while I've done that bit before, I'm kind of busy right now and don't have time for this shit. So – either you're going to have to shoot me," he said without even stumbling over the idea, "and I don't think you will. Or you're going to have to try to restrain me." He smirked at the idea. "And let's be honest here, I've got the advantage here in weight class and that's not including the fact that I fight dirty. So how about this. Either we can both walk away calmly and pick this back up at a later time. Or I can knock you about a bit and you can tell them I threatened ya."
Mulder's eyebrows shot up. That was not the usual way these kinds of negotiations went. This was usually not a negotiation. He couldn't help but ask "are you threatening me?" more out of personal curiosity than anything else. He didn't feel threatened. But then again, he was also quickly beginning to feel like he didn't have control of this conversation. And somewhere along the way it had veered off passed odd and straight into ridiculous.
Dean just grinned back. There was almost something warm and playful about his demeanor suddenly. As if not feeling threatened had somehow made Mulder a good guy in his book. "That depends. Are you going to try to stop me?"
"Are you going to kill someone?" Mulder replied bluntly. He had to ask. He couldn't not ask. If he was wrong about the brothers – even just a little bit – he was going to be responsible for whatever happened.
"Probably," was the immediate and horrifying response. "But they'll probably already be dead, if that makes you feel better."
"No," Mulder replied faintly, finally starting to feel in over his head on this one. "Not really. No. Not at all. I could still shoot you," he added.
"I'm willing to take that chance."
"I wouldn't have to shoot somewhere vital," Mulder reasoned with him.
Dean grinned even more. "I'd recommend it though. Cause if you do shoot me and it doesn't kill me, I'm not gonna feel real bad about shooting you."
Mulder shifted restlessly. Dean had a point. Mulder wasn't going to shoot him unprovoked. He was half temped to pull his gun just to see if he could provoke a reaction, but he had a feeling that wouldn't accomplish much. "This entire area is on the manhunt for a sadistic killer," he pointed out instead. "All it would take is a phone call."
Dean hummed thoughtfully and that set Mulder on edge more than anything else. "You could," he said. "But I'm startin' to think you won't do that either. You know there's something weird going on here, right? And arresting me ain't going to help you any. You're more interested in figuring this out than dealing with details like me."
"You're fairly sure of yourself," Mulder grumbled.
"Sure, I am," Dean said casually. "Also, there's this," he said, shifting again, just another restless twitch, except this time it was followed up by a fist flying at Mulder's face.
The blow caught him solidly across the cheekbone, hard enough to half knock him off his feet. He grabbed for the railing instinctively, trying to keep himself upright while reaching for his gun at the same time. But Dean already had one hand shoved under his jacket and with a quick yank had it out and sent it flying across the yard all in one motion. Mulder's left eye was watering from the shock of the blow but he was able to track its arched trajectory out past the hedge bushes and halfway into the neighboring yard.
Damn it, he was not going to live this one down. Assuming he wasn't about to get carved up like a turkey.
Dean's hand was back yanking at his jacket. Mulder suddenly released the railing, sending his body slamming down onto the porch with Dean staggering over him. It gave him his best chance to get a knee between him and the larger man. Kicking out, he managed to push Dean back and away, but there wasn't as much resistance as he would have expected. He scrambled backwards, adding space and waiting to see what Dean's next move would be.
But it wasn't the confrontation he was expecting. While he was trying to get himself straightened, Dean was already moving. He was off the porch and ducking to run along back of the apartment complex. Mulder abandoned his defensive position and scrambled after him. There wasn't time to go after the gun and Dean – they were in two different directions. Mulder ignored the throbbing in is head and sprinted as hard as he could, hoping that he had the advantage of speed over Dean's muscle. In a straight run, he probably would have had him. But there was a privacy fence running along the back of the neighborhood and Dean pulled himself up and over as smoothly as if he'd had a ladder. It took Mulder longer to get the right grip to pull himself up and he fumbled the landing badly. By that point Dean was already to the next road and that thrice damn car of his.
Mulder pawed at his jacket, trying to get his phone out. He didn't know for sure who he was going to call, but damn it, he was not going to do nothing! It took him a moment to realize his jacket was unusual light and his cell phone gone.
Somehow, he doubted he'd merely dropped it.
By then, the car was already down the street and taking the turn faster than was reasonable.
No cell phone and his gun lost somewhere in the neighbor's yard, which he'd now have to go back and fetch before some kid found it.
"Nice talking to you too," he grumbled, limping back the way he'd come and trying to figure out how the hell he was going to explain this. And how he was going to convenience Scully to hold off calling in the cavalry. Dean Winchester was a dangerous man, but if they arrested him now, they'd never figure out who had killed Bill Haymond – or how to stop them from killing again.