Title: Summer Camp, currently

Stats: Gen, AU (I guess), WIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Notes: I wrote this puppy a loooong time ago, figuring I’d finish it in no time, but life happened and I abandoned the story and then forgot all about it. Until now. I’m hoping to finish it soon.

Plot Premise: This story takes place in 1974, and would be considered AU, except that I think Chris Carter’s own canon slides into AU almost weekly, and besides, this coincides with canon enough that it could technically be thought to have conceivably happened within canon. Wow. I said "canon" three times in that sentence. Anyway, the story takes place in 1974, like I said, and takes place in a summer camp, where all of the characters of the show somehow run into each other. And that’s the basic gist. Enjoy!

P.S. Scully’s initial characterization might bug some people, but don’t worry. As the story continues, she changes a great deal, character-wise.

Summer, 1974

The sign at the entrance said it all.

The address was 1013 Morgan Lane. The parking lot was filled with family sedans and station wagons, milling parents and noisy children. It was Welcoming Day, that most auspicious summer occasion. The camp counselors fingered their name badges and fidgeted. The parents gave last-minute hugs and took tours of the camp ground, which was large and green, with a lake and horse stables and trim little cabins. The children whined and shouted and threw gravel at one another. Typical Opening Day. A soft breeze played over the air, caressing the faces of mothers giving hugs and fathers drinking Styrofoam cups of water and camp counselors whispering and pounding each other on the back. The breeze ruffled the surface of the picturesque lake, murmured through the bright green trees.

Another typical family sedan pulled up to the camp parking lot, sending gravel flying, carefully avoiding the milling people. The engine turned off, the front doors swung open. A tall man with a slowly thickening gut stepped out of the driver side, and a tall, gawky little boy of about twelve practically fell out of the passenger side. The boy, wearing a plain T-shirt, jean shorts, and scruffy tennis shoes, seemed to be in the middle of a discussion with the man, who was wearing a business suit and an impatient frown.

"But, Dad, why can't I just stay home this summer?" the kid was pleading as he followed his father to the rear door, crowding his hip as the man pulled out a duffel bag and a small suitcase and plunked them on the ground. "I'm twelve. That's old enough. I don't need to go to camp this summer. Can't I stay home this time? Please?"

"You're blocking my arm, Fox," the man said distractedly, and the boy moved back a fraction. "You're going to camp," the father continued, shutting the car door, "and that's final. I pay a lot of good money to send you and Sam to this camp each summer."

"Mulder," the kid corrected, practically tripping over his two-sizes-too-big feet as he dogged his father's steps. "I don't like the name Fox." The father sighed and rolled his eyes. "Please, Dad," the kid continued, a look of desperation in his eyes. "I hate summer camp! And Sam--"

"You're going. End of discussion. Now step out of my way." The man yanked open the driver door and turned to give his son a quelling glare.

"But why do I have to go?" the kid asked, looking pitifully miserable.

"It builds character," the man snapped in reply, and got in the car, slamming shut the door.

"Builds character?!" the boy repeated, incredulously. "That's crazy! That's just a convenient clichéd response for anything a kid asks his parents when the kid has to do something he doesn't like! I refuse to accept that for an answer."

"Fox…" the man began, then seemed to change his mind. He started the engine. "Try to have a good time here, okay? Make friends. Your mother will come with me to pick you up at the end. We'll write. Now, I have to go. I'm late for something." He muttered under his breath, "God, I hate precocious children."

Another car pulled up, and a man with drooping features and a business suit much like the one the first father was wearing got out, followed by a little kid of about ten. The kid looked sulky. The man of the second car looked over, saw the first man, and called out, "Hey, Bill!"

The first father looked up, spotted the man, and waved. "Hey, Charles. Is that Jeffery? He's really growing up."

The man, Charles, smiled and lit a cigarette. "Aren't they all? We're late for the meeting."

"See you there, Charles," Bill replied, and gave his distraught son one last vanquishing glare before stepping on the gas. "Goodbye, son. Have fun." Then he drove assertively away, practically mowing down a stray camp counselor in the process.

The tall, gangly kid stood miserably in his father's wake, thinking self-destructive thoughts. Nearby, the cigarette-smoking father tossed down a bag onto the gravel, clapped his sulking son on the shoulder, got back into the car, and drove off, peeling rubber much as the first father had done.

The two boys stood and silently glared after their respective fathers' departing tail lights.

The camp counselor who had narrowly missed being hit by Bill's car ambled amiably over to the two boys, followed by another counselor.

"I hate summer camp," the littler boy stated aloud.

"Hey, there," the first camp counselor greeted, smiling toothily, waving. The other counselor grinned in sync. "Welcome to Camp Carter! What're your names, guys?"

The two boys turned to give the counselors sour stares.

"I'm Jeffery," the littler boy finally replied. "Jeffery Spender."

"My name's Mulder," the tall kid offered, giving the two teenagers suspicious glares.

"Mulder?" the first counselor, a tanned, blond-haired seventeen-year-old whose name tag said he was Chet, repeated questioningly. "Is that German or something?" The second counselor, a dark-haired teen with a name tag claiming that he was Mike, looked equally lost.

"It's my last name," the boy explained. "My full name is Fox William Mulder, but just call me Mulder."

"Well, hi, Fox!" the first counselor exclaimed jovially. "We're really glad to meet you! And you, too, Jeffery! I'm Chet, and this is Mike. We're two of your camp counselors."

"Hi," Mulder said dutifully. Jeffery didn't bother saying anything.

A faint racketing noise that had been mere murmurings in the distance now suddenly roared full-blast, signaling the arrival of a ratty old junkheap of a truck, rattling and roaring, engine laboring, popping, backfiring, expelling occasional gun cracks of noise. It flew down the gravel road toward the camp at an alarming clip, careened into the parking lot, and skidded to a halt just a few meters away from Mulder, Jeffery, Chet and Mike. The group of four turned to stare. They watched as the passenger door of the rusting truck squealed open and a small boy of about seven was unceremoniously tossed out of the cab, quickly followed by a backpack, which was falling apart at the seams. The door slammed shut behind him.

The boy landed with an ooomph! on his seat, but before the truck could roar its getaway he sprang to his feet, launched himself at the closed door, and scrabbled at it desperately. His tiny fingers scraped off what little paint had remained on the door. The stationary truck vibrated with the effort it took to remain motionless and keep its engine going.

"No! No!" the little boy screamed, yanking wildly at the door handle. "Don't make me stay here! Don't make me stay here! For the love of God, let me come with you! Don't leave me here! No! No! Nooo!"

"Alexei!" the man at the wheel barked sharply. He was wearing a greasy white undershirt, a grizzled baseball cap, and a cigarette dangled from his lips, a vodka bottle nestled between his thighs. The woman lounging negligently next to him wore a tank top and blue jean cut-offs, her hair in wild disarray about her face. A cigarette dangled from her lips as well. "You get away from this truck! You are going, and that is final! No more back talk!" His words were almost unintelligible, due to his outrageously thick accent.

"No! No!" the little boy howled back, his voice a fire engine wail. "This is Hell! I'd sooner eat bugs! I'd sooner be devoured alive by giant cannibals! I don't wanna go! I don't wanna go! You can't make me go!"

"Alexei!" the man shouted again, his cigarette bouncing. "Don't make me come out of this truck!"

"Mind your da, Alexei," the woman said indifferently, her accent also thick. The tyke tried to jump up high enough to reach in his little arm through the open window and unlock the door. The woman leaned out listlessly and attempted to kiss the distressed boy on the cheek. "Now, be a good boy, okay?"

The second counselor, Mike, had suddenly gone quite pale. "Oh. My. God," he whispered, aghast, staring with horror at the shrieking little black-haired boy.

"What's wrong?" Counselor Chet asked, looking askance at Mike.

"It's... it's..." Mike gasped out, face white. "It's him. The Devil Child."

"Pleaaaaase!" the little squirt wailed, wringing his hands. He then resorted to banging on the idling truck's door with his fist. "Let me go home! Don't make me stay here, goddammit!"

"Alexei!" the man shouted. "Don't you fucking swear, you little bastard! We're leaving! Don't make any trouble, boy! I mean it!" He shifted the gears on the truck, harassedly.

"It's the Spawn of Satan," Mike continued, barely breathing. Mulder looked at the little boy with interest. "The most evil child in all of creation. No, please, don't let it be him. Don't let it be him. Anyone but him."

"Be good, honey," the woman said listlessly. "Try and be nice. Have fun." She attempted a wave, and the little boy was forced to leap back as the truck gunned to life and screamed out of the parking lot, scattering parents and kids from its path, and was gone, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

The little kid howled after the vanishing truck. "You bastards!" he shrieked, irate, throwing handfuls of gravel in the direction of the disappearing truck. Nearby parents gave reproving looks and tut-tutted. Kids stared.

The boy turned and looked at Mulder, Jeffery, and the two counselors. "What the hell are you staring at?" the little seven-year-old asked, glaring at them with vivid green eyes.

"Oh, God," Counselor Mike moaned. "It's him, all right. It's the Krycek kid."

"Hi," said Mulder, feeling friendly. "Your parents forced you here, too, huh?" Jeffery just stared.

The seven-year-old said nothing in reply, just picked up his backpack and scowled. Compared to Jeffery, who was wearing a tucked-in short-sleeved shirt and clean shorts, the kid looked like a moppet, with a stained, holy T-shirt and raggedy shorts.

Since Mike seemed to be petrified for the moment, Chet decided it was his duty to greet the new kid. "Hi!" he exclaimed, giving the little guy his widest, most insincere smile. "I'm Chet! What's your name, pal?"

"I'm not your pal," the kid replied frostily. "Buddy."

Mulder grinned helplessly. "Holy cow," he said, "now that's attitude."

The little kid just gave him a cautiously appraising glare, taking in his huge nose and soft hazel eyes and big feet.

Nearby, a family was acting out a scene of overwhelmingly familial bliss. A happy-looking mother and a proud, affectionate-looking father were hugging and kissing a little redheaded ten-year-old girl goodbye. Two older siblings, a girl and a boy, hugged her after the parents were done. Then the littler brother had his turn. The whole family seemed to have turned out to see the kid off. The red-haired girl, barrettes in her neatly combed locks and nice and neat-looking in clean shorts and shirt, fluted, "Goodbye, Mommy, goodbye, Daddy, I'll miss you! Love you!"

"We love you, honey," the mother replied, giving her daughter a big squeeze. "Be a good girl, have fun, we'll write as soon as we get home."

"Have a blast, sweetheart," the father said, smiling.

"I will, Daddy," the little girl replied, beaming back at him. "I love summer camp!"

"Bye, Dana," the big sister said, hugging the kid again, and kissing her on the cheek. "I'll write."

"Bye, Melissa," the kid said, "have fun at ballet camp."

"See ya, kiddo." This was from the big brother, and after he hugged her the whole family then went another round. Mulder stared. He'd never seen anything so weird in his life. "Keep outta trouble," the big brother finished, and the little redhead giggled and swatted him on the hip.

"I never get in trouble!" she exclaimed, laughing, "that's you who gets in trouble!" She giggled again. There was another round of hugging and kissing. More jokes. Then, finally, after much family love was shared, the family piled back into the station wagon and drove off, the little girl waving happily after them.

"Bye!" she cried, waving, her valise and small suitcase sitting at her feet. "Bye!" Five different arms extended out of the wagon's windows and waved until the car was out of sight. Only after they were completely gone from view did the strange kid stop waving and turn to peruse her surroundings.

"Jesus," a voice said close to Mulder's ear. He looked and saw the green-eyed kid, Alexei, standing next to him, staring with disgust and disbelief at the girl. "That was so gross. It was like the Waltons. Can you believe that?"

Mulder shrugged. He didn't know how to respond to that. "I was thinking 'The Partridge Family,' myself," he found himself saying, and the kid grinned.

"I hate that show," the little guy said. He was short, and slender, with the sort of face that made women stop you in the grocery store and exclaim over your eyes and tell you that you were adorable. His nose, unlike Mulder's, was short and pert. Mulder hated his nose. His grandfather had once told him he could land jet planes on that nose. Mulder also hated his grandfather, coincidentally.

Jeffery, standing nearby, said, "I like that show."

"You would," the little kid replied.

The redhead spotted them and picked up her two bags, then trotted over, moving like a confident little pony.

"I'm telling you," Mike was whispering frantically to Chet, who was frowning, "that kid is evil! He was here last summer, and I won't tell you what kind of trouble he got into! We had to call the cops and the fire department, twice! This is terrible, just terrible." The poor guy looked close to tears.

"Hi," the little girl greeted, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind one ear. She smiled. "I'm Dana. You ever been to Camp Carter before? I've never been here, before. What's your names?"

"I'm Mulder," Mulder offered, neutrally, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Mulder?" Both the girl and the little boy looked at him with confusion. "What kind of name is Mulder? That's a funny name."

"Well," Mulder began grudgingly, "my first name is Fox, but I'd like it if you called me Mulder, okay?"

"I'm Jeffery," Jeffery interjected, looking a little bored. He leaned down and started peeling the rubber off of his nice, neat shoe.

"Hi, Fox, hi, Jeffery," Dana said. Mulder winced. Dana turned to the green-eyed kid, who gave her a level glare. "What’s your name?"

"Alex," he replied shortly, and turned away dismissively. "I'm outta here. Color me gone." He started to stroll down the parking lot, sidestepping chatting parents and shouting kids, his backpack slung over one knobby shoulder.

"Where does he think he's going?" the redhead demanded, frowning, hands on her hips. "He's not supposed to leave! It's against the rules!"