Into the Woods
Author's Notes: Song sent to me by Flutesong
Rated: T, with overtones of future M/K
Summary: Mulder was always the one who set the pace. Krycek was his partner in this case that occurred before Duane Barry happened along to wreck everything.
Beta: No beta. I need a beta. Do I hear any volunteers? I'm so ronery...
"What do you know about the Wendigo, Krycek?" Fox Mulder's flat voice floated from the corner of the room where the man himself was crouched over the bottom drawer of the X-Files.
"Isn't that the creature that can only be seen if it faces you?" Alex Krycek frowned as he sat reading through a file. "Didn't they eat evil doers or something like that and burn their feet away?"
"That was them," said Mulder, somewhat inelegantly. Pushing the drawer closed, he rose to his feet once more, the fluid grace of his rising somewhat spoiled by the loud crack of his knee joints. "They were supposed to inhabit the woods and capture wrong doers. The American Indians have tales that have been passed down by word of mouth since forever, and Wendigo can be roughly translated to mean "the evil spirit that devours mankind". Cannibal is one interpretation of that." Mulder held out a sheaf of papers to Krycek, waving them under his young partner's nose.
"Mulder, I'm trying to reconcile this expense account." The protest was faint, and after a moment, Krycek reached out a hand and took the folder, laying aside his own work with a sigh. "What is this all about?" he asked, pulling open the file and starting to read.
"This report is from last week," he remarked, studying the clipping that was the first item. "Hmmm… fifteen feet tall, with glowing eyes, long yellowed fangs and an overly long tongue. Sounds like my uncle Dimitri." He laid the file down. "Mulder, you're not really going to go chasing off into the backwoods of Minnesota, are you? Just because some old lady had a little too much to drink and hallucinated a little."
"I thought you said that you believed in me believed in the X-files." Mulder was smiling, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and Krycek sighed as he returned his attention to the folder.
"Okay," he said. "You're not going to give me any peace until I give in, are you?" He shook his head, grinning as Mulder threw a balled up piece of paper at him and turned his attention to the folder.
"Okay, so this woman was heading home with a whole deer she'd liberated from the local store, and she came upon this really tall dude with yellow skin." Krycek tapped his teeth with his pen as he read. "And he took a bite out of her? Jesus, that's harsh."
"According to native lore, the Wendigo is created whenever a human resorts to cannibalism to survive," murmured Mulder. "There are stories about the creature that go back before records began, in the backwoods of New England and parts of Canada too. Looks like one has surfaced right here, and we owe it to ourselves to verify its existence. How's your camping, Krycek? Done much?"
"Come on, Mulder; you're not seriously suggesting that we head out into the wilds of Michigan in mid-November to hunt for some tall yellow guy, just because a drunk old woman says he bit her? It's going to be fucking cold." He paused, his expression tragic. "And besides, there's a game on tonight."
Wordlessly, Mulder extended a sheaf of photographs. The young agent took them with a sigh and began to leaf through them. There were a number of them, and the first few showed bite marks on the leathery skin of an elderly lady who appeared to be unconscious. He was not prepared for the others.
The body lay splayed in the snow, the thick quilting of its jacket ripped, and its limbs at awkward angles. The man was evidently dead, the head was split open as though it had impacted with the ground. The legs were twisted, one wrenched impossibly wide in an insane ballet posture, and they ended at mid calf, the stumps at the end oozing black, the heavy pants the man had worn charred and blackened.
Lowering the last picture, Krycek raised his eyes to Mulder. "My God, What happened."
Mulder's smile was smug, as he tossed a plane ticket down onto the photographs. "The Wendigo," he said.
Wilson State Park, MI
"Mulder, I really don't see why we're camping, when there's snow on the ground. It's not as if this is even character forming. My character is already formed, thank you very much." Krycek poked in a dispirited fashion at the fire he'd finally succeeded in coaxing to life, and huddled up to it, his sleeping bag wrapped around his shoulders. "I didn't even like camping when I was a kid."
He looked around him at the otherwise empty camp ground. "We're not going to find a Wendigo, or anything else, around here."
"Oh, ye of little faith. I thought you were open to extreme possibilities," murmured Mulder, approaching to hold his hands out to the fire. "We'll make something to eat, and then go look for witnesses. There must be someone who saw the creature. We just have to get out there."
"That's what I was afraid of," muttered Krycek, sotto voce. He sighed and got to his feet to go and find the food they'd brought, rummaging through the bags as he checked out their provisions. "This is all rabbit food. Didn't you get steaks?"
"Red meat is very bad for you," said Mulder, smirking a little as he delved in the bag of groceries. Tossing Krycek a package, he began to get the ingredients ready to make coffee. A moment later, there was a howl of outrage from Krycek.
"Tofu?" he bellowed. "What the fuck? You drag me out here and then try and feed me tofu. I'm going to kill you, Mulder."
"I suspect that it's the closed season for FBI agents," said Mulder, the pan of water in his hand as he moved back to the fire. "Suck it up, Krycek, and breathe clean air for a change."
Krycek said nothing, contenting himself with setting a pot full of water on the fire to boil. Once it was stable, and there was no danger that it would spill and put out the blaze he'd so painstakingly created, he headed back to where his pack was lying and fumbled inside, drawing out his gun with a grunt of satisfaction. "Protein, here I come," he murmured, slamming the clip home with an air of determination.
He was in the act of stowing the gun in the small of his back, when a Park Ranger appeared, driving a snowmobile.
"Mighty inhospitable time of year for camping, folks," said the newcomer. "I hope you weren't thinking to hunt within the boundaries of the state park. There are areas only a few miles down the road that would permit it, but here in Wilson, we encourage wildlife."
"Federal agents," said Mulder, flashing his badge. "We're here to investigate the appearance of the Wendigo. Rumor has it that one has been making itself felt around these parts."
"You needn't worry about those old wives' tales," said the Ranger, seeming to be a little embarrassed by the topic. "Old mother Hornbeak is three sheets to the wind on a regular basis. She just had one drink too many and decided to stir up trouble."
"So you'd think it fair to say that there have been no occurrences out of the ordinary?" Krycek asked the question from his position behind the other two. "See, Mulder, there's nothing here to see. Let's go find a hotel with satellite TV and watch the game."
As the Ranger turned to look at him, Krycek felt a shiver go down his spine. There was something hostile about the man; something felt rather than seen. He backed away, checking his pistol .reflexively.
"I think you'll both be safe from any spirits that are around tonight. The Wendigo only takes people with malice in their heart, and you're both good guys, isn't that right?" It seemed to Alex that the man could see into him, see the agenda he carried with him, hidden from the world.
"We're righteous and God-fearing," said Mulder, the sarcasm for once muted in his voice. We'll be fine. We'll be along in the morning to talk to Mother Hornbeak, though. Hopefully she'll be able to give us a first hand account."
The warden agreed, and after a few more moment's small talk and a caution not to go out onto the lake's icy surface, as it wasn't quite frozen solid yet, the man departed.
Once he'd left, zipping away on his snowmobile to leave the two agents to cook their supper, Krycek made his stand. "You can eat tofu, if you like. I need something more substantial. I'll be back in a while." Heading off along the trail, he didn't wait for Mulder to make some smart-alec comment. He'd show Mulder. He'd bring back a rabbit or something, and Mulder could suck it up.
Slipping through the woods, Alex Krycek felt strangely liberated. The world was monochrome about him. The trees showed black, their shadows grey on the whiteness of the recent snowfall, and frost added a tracery of lace to the stark branches above him. At first all was quiet, and then as he paused to listen, his body still, he became aware of the small sounds around him.
The crackle of long dead branches hidden beneath the snow had him fumbling for his gun, and as a deer came into sight, he brought up the pistol, ready to aim. The sound of a click directly behind him made him jump.
"Don't touch that trigger, or you're dead meat," said the voice of the Warden.
Allowing his gun to dangle uselessly from one finger, Alex raised his hands in surrender and slowly rotated until he could see the other man. The Warden was holding a cocked shotgun pointed steadily at his head, and he seemed to be somehow larger, more menacing than he had earlier at the camp site.
"Easy, bud. I won't give you any trouble. Why don't you point that thing somewhere else?" Krycek spoke softly, but the strain in his voice was evident.
"Told a little lie; stole a little gold; broke a little vow; did you?" chanted the man, his voice a strange, sing-song purr that seemed to become deeper and harsher with every word. "Oh, yes; I know you. You're a bad one all right. You're wicked."
"Hey, fuck off, man. I was just looking for a rabbit or something for dinner. He's only brought tofu. Wouldn't you be a little vexed?" Alex was feeling nervous now. The creature it was no longer a man before him had grown until it now towered over him, yellowish skin showing through sparse, black hairs, and its eyes gleaming red in the rapidly falling dusk. "I mean, come on."
He turned to run, but a claw gripping his shoulder spun him round. "Come with me," growled the creature. "We're going for a little run."
The memory of the photographs he'd seen rushed back to Krycek. Legs that ended in bloody, half burned stumps flashed before his eyes, and the sightless eyes staring at eternity from within the smashed head. He was suddenly afraid. His gun had been knocked from his hand, and this creature was now twice his own height. His mouth was dry; he wondered if he would ever see Mulder again.
The being began to run through the trees, hauling Krycek with him. After the first few steps, he found that he was missing steps, stumbling as the paces grew further apart. He could feel his feet growing hotter, and began struggling, trying desperately to get away.
He couldn't break the hold of the thing that held onto him so tightly. He shrieked, not knowing if he'd be heard in the cold, dark wastes. Fearing that he would not, and that he'd end up making his own, obscenely bloody snow angel.
The shot that rang out left him dazed, deafened, and the second one caused the creature that was dragging him to stagger, then fall, pulling him with it, so that he lay, face down on the hairy body.
"Krycek? Are you all right?" The laconic tones of Fox Mulder's inquiry filtered through his buzzing, aching head. Hands helped him stand, dusted the fine, powdery snow from his pants and jacket, and tipped his chin up so that he was gazing into the other agent's shrewd eyes. ""Looks like you caught us our Wendigo, wouldn't you say?"
"Guess so," mumbled Krycek, swaying towards the other man, suddenly deathly tired. "Can we go back to civilization, now?"
"You think we ought to just go off and leave… him?" Mulder indicated the dead forest ranger whose body lay tumbled in the snow, the single splash of red betraying the violence of his end. "I suspect that we ought to call it in."
"How are we going to explain him?" Krycek's voice was hoarse and thready. "Better if we just leave."
Nodding somberly, Mulder helped him back through the trees towards their camp, where they found that the fire had gone out while they had been away from it. Muttering imprecations, Mulder tossed their gear back into the SUV they were driving and fired up the engine.
"You know, Krycek," he said, as they pulled away from the site. "I can't quite get it out of my head that you staged this specifically so you could watch that game tonight."
Krycek, who was sleeping, head back and mouth open, didn't respond, and Mulder studied his partner, feeling a little surge of affection for the handsome, eager boy he appeared to be before driving away into the night in search of the motel and the game.
This is from S Sondheim's musical INTO THE WOODS. It is the final song the witch sings before she vanishes from the story.
It's the last midnight.
It's the last wish.
It's the last midnight,
Soon it will be boom-
Squish!
Told a little lie,
Stole a little gold,
Broke a little vow,
Did you?
Had to get your Prince,
Has to get your cow,
Have to get your wish,
Doesn't matter how-
Anyway, it doesn't matter now.
It's the last midnight,
It's the boom-
Splat!
Nothing but a vast midnight.
Everybody smashed flat!
Nothing we can do.
Not exactly true
We can always give her the boy...
No?
No, of course what really matters
Is the blame,
Somebody to blame.
Fine, if that's the thing you enjoy,
Placing the blame,
If that's the aim,
Give me the blame-
Just give me the boy.
THE OTHERS
No!
WITCH
No?
You're so nice.
You're not good,
You're not bad,
You're just nice.
I'm not good,
I'm not nice,
I'm just right.
I'm the Witch.
You're the world.
I'm the hitch.
I'm what no one believes,
I'm the Witch.
You're all liars and theives,
Like his father,
Like his son will be, too-
Oh, why bother?
You'll just do what you do.
It's the last midnight,
So, goodbye all.
Coming at you fast, midight-
Soon you'll see the sky fall.
Here, you want a bean?
Have another bean.
Beans were made for making you rich!
Plant them and they soar-
Here, you want some more?
Listen to the roar...
Giants by the score-!
Oh well, you can blame another witch.
It's the last midnight.
It's the last verse.
Now, before it's past midnight,
I'm leaving you my last curse
I'm leaving you alone.
You can tend the garden, it's yours.
Separate and alone,
Everybody down on all fours.
All right, mother, when?
Lost the beans again!
Punish me the way you did then!
Give me claws and a hunch,
Just away from this bunch
And the gloom
And the doom
And the boom
Cruuunch!
The End
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