Title: Wonderland II: The Terrors Of Tinytown
Author: DBKate
Written: 1997
Category/Rating: Humor/PG-13
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does.

Summary: Fox Mulder was having a nightmare.

Sequel to http://fluky.gossamer.org/display.php?WonderlandI.DBKate

With many thanks to the AOL Fanfic Junkies, who inspire and amuse.

Fox Mulder was having a nightmare.

And he had no idea why. The day had started out typically enough, with a couple of cups of coffee, some e-mails and a batch of expense reports. At around three, maybe four, he'd felt the urge for something sweet and took off to the candy machine, as he had done every in-house work day for the past seven years.

But today, something...something was different.

He just knew it.

Upon his return, he noticed that his longtime partner was no longer the cool, calm rational person he had grown used to over the past four years, but had suddenly become a strange, agitated version of her former self, heaving, pouting and speaking in a low, breathy voice that would normally be associated with various, and usually fatal, respiratory ailments.

"Mulder...you're...you're back," said Scully, clutching her desk with whitened knuckles, her voice childlike in its wispy breathlessness. "I thought you'd never return."

Mulder looked at her with confusion. "I went to the snack machine down the hall."

"You've been gone so long, Mulder. I thought it was understood that we were never supposed to see each other again," said Scully dramatically, her ruby lips trembling with thousands, possibly millions, of unspoken words. "Isn't that what you wanted? Isn't it, Mulder?"

"Scully? Are you feeling all right?" asked Mulder, backing away from the somewhat frightening visage in front of him. "I can call for a doctor."

"But I suppose we couldn't stay away from each other, could we, Mulder?" continued Scully, a melodramatic hostility coloring her every word with its melancholy, bittersweet flavor.

"Uh, should I leave?" Mulder asked nervously. Maybe she fell and hit her head, he thought, wondering if the medical staff were still on duty in the main building. If I lock her in and call for help...

But Scully suddenly burst into loud tears and sprinted out the door, her heels clicking down a cold, empty hall way, her sobs echoing off of the indifferent grey walls. "Leave? You want to leave, do you? Well, then damn you, Fox Mulder! Damn you!"

Mulder stood there for a long moment, unable to speak. Finally, he peeked out the door and called out down the hallway, where Scully had become a tiny, sobbing dot in the distance.

"Scully? Hey, come back. Look...I got you Ho Ho's!"

Mulder shrugged uncomfortably as he rambled down the hall after Scully.

OK, you were gone for approximately two minutes, he thought. When you left the office, Scully was filling in her expense reports and trying to dislodge a piece of popcorn from a back molar with her pen cap. Right. You got the Ho Ho's, the Good n' Plentys and the bag of seeds. Fine. You checked out the new filing girl, and everything was normal there as far as you could ascertain, except for her amazing set of poolokas. Great. And everything is normal in this hallway too...

Except for that sound. What is that? It sounds like...


Fox Mulder turned around with a baffled look, as a low, mewling noise permeated the hallway. It appeared to be coming from an office he didn't remember seeing there before. He hesitated before knocking, but his natural curiosity got the better of him. But, as the door slowly opened, he wished it hadn't.

For when he saw the office's occupants, he screamed.

A loud, bloodcurdling scream.

For there before him stood Scully and her mother, two horrifying sights in loud, tent-like mumus, their head covered with giant, hideous hair rollers and a green mask of facial cream covering their faces, with frightening white circles surrounding each eye.

"My god, Scully!" cried Mulder. "Good lord!"

"Fox, it's so good to see you," replied Mrs. Scully, still managing to be gracious even underneath a humiliating pink tent of a dress.

"Well, it's about time you got home, Mulder," snarled Scully, the dried gunk on her face cracking and sliding as she spoke. "Do you think I can take care of our babies all by myself? What am I? Your slave?"

"What?" asked Mulder, trying to take in his surroundings. The office he thought he'd entered bore a much greater resemblance to a tacky suburban home, complete with cheap rugs, green drapes and country duck wallpaper. He grimaced at the plaid couches and shook his head slowly as he backed away. "I think there's a mistake here."

"The only mistake was giving you all those babies," replied Scully, her lower lip trembling and the hair rollers bobbing. "And the best years of my life, Fox Mulder!"

"Uh, Scully, we have no babies," said Mulder, slowly, carefully. "There are no babies. And I think there's something very strange going on here..."

"Oh, yeah?" said Scully, her hands on her hips and evil smirk on her lips. "Do you want to see those nonexistent babies, Mulder?"

Quick as a flash, Scully grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into the depths of the badly furnished apartment, furiously storming onward and dragging a shrinking Mulder behind her. When she came to a pink and blue pastel door, she flung it open with a flourish.

"There!" she cried out loudly, a curler flying from her head and rattling to the floor. "There are your children who don't exist!"

Mulder gasped when he saw the contents of the room.

It was filled with babies. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of them, lie before him and the cloying stench of dippys and binkies, bottles and tippys, wipies and wah-wahs, powders and diapers filled the air. Oh, there were endless bundles of them, and every one was either mewling, howling, puking or screaming in red-faced defiance of all that was calm and peaceful.

Mulder reeled back in fright. "Jesus."

"Well, congratulations, 'Dad,'" said Scully, with a smirk. "Now, hand me a diaper. I got a full load over here."

"But...but...those aren't mine!" Mulder cried out in horror.

At this, Mrs. Scully fainted dead away.

"Oh, great, now look at what you've done. Damn it! Damn you, Fox Mulder!" Scully screeched and once again she took off, ratty slippers and mumu flapping behind her as she ran down the hall and out the door, slamming it in her wake.

*Jesus Christ*, there is something *seriously* wrong here, he thought. Mulder stumbled from the nursery and fell into a kitchen chair, his eyes wide with fear. The mewling became louder and he heard Mrs. Scully rise and begin to murmur *hide the baby*, over and over again. Good Lord, there's more than something very wrong here, Mulder thought again wildly, a slight hysteria threatening his equilibrium.

Much more.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples, trying to gather his thoughts, when a little girl appeared out of nowhere and stood in front of him, expectant in her attitude.

"Hello," said the little girl, batting her cherub-like eyes. "My name is Sam and you're my Daddy."

"What? Look, I'm not your Daddy, OK?" said Mulder with terrified exasperation. "I'm not anyone's daddy, all right?"

Sam's tiny, angelic eyes filled with glistening tears, each one more precious than a single, perfect diamond. "You're not my daddy?" she lisped, her darling, snow-white cheeks and chubby little lips trembling with baby sobs.

Oh, the little fiend, Mulder thought. "No, I'm not your daddy," he muttered, hoping that whoever created this dwarfish demon would come and get it.

"But my mommy said..." began Sam, lilliputian little lashes dampening with enchanted drops of angel dew.

"Look, you should be glad we're not related. Trust me. Besides, this isn't happening, so neither one of us should care," said Mulder, rising shakily and looking for the door.

Sam began to cry, her face glowing with a halo of innocent and adorable sorrow. "Oh Daddy! Why do you say this isn't real?"

"Because there is nothing real about this entire situation," replied Mulder angrily. "This room isn't real, you're not real...I don't even know if I'm real any more."

"Oh, I see," said Sam, suddenly thoughtful. "You're saying that my cloying cuteness, my utterly adorable nature and my perfect, unselfish charm is completely unbelievable and nonexistent in any child whom you've ever come across in real-life."

"Yeah, that's right. Whatever."

"And you wish that I would act more like a real child?"

Before he could reply indifferently, she grabbed his hand and bit him.


"Agggghhhh!!!!" screamed Mulder, grabbing his hand and blanching at the sight of tiny, bloody tooth marks. "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Well, you should be careful what you wish for, Daddy," said Sam, toddling away to find those matches she'd been playing with. "You just might get it."

Without another thought, Fox Mulder ran out the door.

Soon, Mulder spied the Sci-Crime lab in the distance. Hey, there's *always* someone in there, he thought. One of those guys will know what the hell is going on here. I can ask one of them to take a look at me and tell me I've gone crazy. I'll talk to Thornley, or Brinson, or Giz....Mulder flung the lab door open and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the tech before him.

Or maybe I can just talk to Pendrell.

"Jesus," Mulder said, looking at the recently deceased red-haired lab tech with horror in his eyes. "Oh, Christ almighty."

"Let me guess," said Pendrell, tossing his pen down with irritation. "I assume you're here because of my little *liaison* with your partner."

"Uh...uh," stuttered Mulder, too shocked to speak. "Holy Christ, Pendrell."

"Well, Agent Mulder, I slept with her, but don't worry, she was closing her eyes and thinking about you, OK?" said Pendrell, with an expression of terminal boredom. "And while I loved her, I realized that I was no match for the special bond that both of you had together. So, after I died, I used my heavenly wiles to procure her happiness, and, by default, yours. Isn't that wonderful? Now can I *please* go back to being dead?"

"Pendrell, you have no idea how completely freaked out I am right at this moment," whispered Mulder, nearly choking with terror.

"Really? Believe me, you're just scratching the surface, pal." Pendrell shook his head. He began to mutter angrily to himself. "You know, I think the obsession that this author has with me borders on the unhealthy."

Mulder's expression slowly became suspicious. "What *author*?"

Pendrell's eyes flew open in abject terror. "Oh, my god. Did I say that? Oh, forget I said that! Oh, god..," he clapped his hands frantically over his mouth, but alas...

It was too late. In a flash, Pendrell had vanished.

Mulder stumbled back in surprise. Good Lord. He now knew what it was.

It was the water. It had to be.

Those bastards have poisoned my water again, thought Fox Mulder as he sprinted from the lab, praying that his erratic actions would prompt someone to get him some help. OK, just run, he thought, and keep running until someone tackles you and takes you away. He jogged down empty hallways, and seeing no one, decided to fling open an office door and hope against hope that someone was there who could possibly help him awake from this nightmare.

It opened with a bang, and Fox Mulder found himself smack in the middle of a church aisle, the overwhelming smell of flowers and loud organ music filling the air. My God, he thought, this is worse than I imagined.

"Mulder!" cried Scully wobbling toward him, weighed down underneath a mountain of taffeta, white satin, rhinestones, tiaras, blue silk garter belts and a veil the size of Manhattan. "I thought you weren't coming!"

"Yeah, I'm surprised I'm here too," said Mulder, a terrible fear knotting his gut.

Scully looked down and her eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a drug-addled butterfly. "But, I suppose you couldn't stay away. I know how hard this must be for you, Mulder, watching me marry another man, and well, I have these doubts myself..."

"Scully. Listen to me. I think I'm dying here," said Mulder, his hands shaking. "You have to help me. I think I've been poisoned."

"What? Mulder, didn't you hear me? I'm going...to...marry...someone...else."

"Well, good for you. Do you think this is the same stuff they put in my water the last time?" asked Mulder, his voice hoarse with fear.

Scully looked at him in shock. "You mean you're going to LET me marry him?"

"Don't see why not," replied Mulder, looking around for a place to sit. His knees were buckling and he could feel the color draining from his face. "Could you give me hand here? I really don't feel well."

"But he BEATS me!" Scully wailed.

Mulder was starting to panic, breathing harshly, with sweat rolling down his brow. "Whatever. Can you *please* get me to a doctor?"

Scully's mouth dropped. "What the..."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Melissa ran up. "Oh, Fox! I'm so glad you're here! You have to stop the wedding. You and Dana are meant only for each other. I just *know* it, Fox. I *feel*..."

"Can it, Melissa," Scully snarled. "There's something wrong with him."

"Call 911, will you?" said Mulder weakly. God, the bastards must have given him enough of that shit to make a horse hallucinate.

"He's just upset that you're getting married, Dana," said Melissa hesitantly. "Or maybe that he missed the last masquerade ball because of his two broken legs."

Scully shook her head. "No, this is different. He's too...too..."

"Realistic?" gasped Mulder, now beginning to hyperventilate. "Look, I'm really going to pass out here."

"Yes," replied Scully, her eyes narrowing to slits underneath the white lace, her tiara twinkling madly. "Yes, much too realistic. I think we'll have to take care of that."

"No," croaked Mulder, his vision dimming. "No, I'll be all right. Don't...don't do whatever you were going to do."

"Yes, and I think I know *just* the thing," said Scully with a dark smile. "Don't I, Mulder?"

But Fox Mulder had already slid to the ground, unable to reply.

And Scully's laughter was the last thing he heard.

When Fox Mulder awoke, he found himself in his bedroom, the flickering light of a muted TV before him. Oh, thank god, he thought, wiping the sweat from his brow. What a horrible nightmare, he sighed. Well, that's over now. I'll just go back to sleep and...

"Yoo, hoo..." came a voice from the foot of his bed.

Mulder sat up like a shot, groping for the gun that he kept on his nightstand. His hand reached and patted the wood, but came up empty."Who's there?" he yelled, blinking and trying to adjust his vision.

"It's me. Your conscience, Fox Mulder," said the voice.

"What?" replied Mulder, squinting and reaching for the light switch. He flicked it on and jumped slightly when he saw a man sitting at the foot of the bed.

A man who looked exactly like himself.

Oh great, I'm *still* dreaming, he thought. Fine. Go with the flow Mulder, he chanted to himself. This will all be over soon and you can call your shrink in the morning. Go with the flow.

"You can't sleep can you?" his twin asked him, shaking his head sadly.

"I sleep fine, why?" Mulder replied cautiously. He looked curiously at his double, noting the bad shape he was in, with rings under the eyes, raw sore marks on his arms, the obvious signs of recent casts, and even slight traces of needle tracks up and down his arms. Great, my conscience is a clumsy heroin addict, thought Mulder, rolling his eyes.


Mulder's twin took no notice of Mulder's observations, but continued in the same sad, slow tone. "You're wracked with guilt day and night, aren't you? Don't deny it. Day and night, the pains wrack you, but oh, they're so much worse at night, aren't they? Staying awake for weeks on end, lying on this filthy couch..."

"As you can see, I'm in my bed and I sleep fine," replied Mulder with a puzzled expression.

But the vision continued unfazed. "...watching cheap pornography, with those redheaded temptresses dancing before your heartbroken eyes, and you're awake, alone, thinking oh, what was. Oh, what could have been. Oh, what could be. Oh, the humanity," the man moaned, shaking his head. "And here you are, on this grimy couch, watching rank and horrible boob-flicks..."

Mulder's expression grew exasperated. "Look, I'm obviously in my bed, not on my couch. I assure you I'll sleep well tonight, just like I did last night. I haven't watched a video in a couple of weeks, because I haven't had the time or inclination and I'm currently reading a book called "Chariots of The Gods" which, while perhaps rank, doesn't have a boob in sight. So, I think you're being unfair."

The twin sighed. "Just like you. Putting such a brave face on absolute and unrelenting misery. But you can be honest with me. Come on, Mulder, wrestle with me! I'm your conscience, remember?" he said passionately, with a small tear rolling out of his left eye.

"If you don't get the hell out of here, I'm going to shoot you. I've got a 7am meeting tomorrow, and I don't have the time to waste with this," said Mulder brusquely, hoping that a hard stance with his subconscious might pull himself back into reality.

"Your fish are dead. Your life is in shambles. And I mean, what about your children? How can you be so thoughtless?"

"My fish are fine and I DON'T HAVE ANY CHILDREN!" yelled Mulder."Look, I'm going to count to three and..."

"And what?" asked his twin, his eyes turning sinister. "What then, Mulder? There is nowhere else. You're one of us now. And guess what? Mulder's twin smiled an evil, twisted smile. "You ain't gonna be sleeping for a while, pal."

Mulder bolted out of his bed, determined to strangle his subconscious if he had to, but the vision had already disappeared. He sat back down with a sigh and shook his head. There was something up, but he *still* couldn't put his finger on it. Mulder thought for a long time, and decided that getting some rest was the best thing he could do. After a night of sleep, all this would become clear, he thought.

All I have to do is go back to sleep.

He lay back down, closed his eyes and waited. And waited. And waited a bit more. But, to his horror, Mulder discovered that he *couldn't* go back to sleep. He lay awake, and time passed slowly...day after day, night after night, it was the same. Insomnia had taken him by the throat, and his days were filled with bouts of screaming wives, babies and strange in-laws.

His fish *were* dead.

His video collection grew to enormous proportions and redheaded temptresses *did* prance across his television, night after night, as he lay sleepless on the couch. He became luckless and clumsy, broken bones sometimes appearing spontaneously and he was intubated regularly, sometimes for no reason at all. He never investigated cases anymore and his life became a strange whirl of pain, children's parties and conga lines.

And as he lay on his filthy couch, awake and frightened, he noticed for the first time a neon sign flickering outside of his window. He rose to look and became bathed in its red, pulsating light. He blinked as he read it, wondering what the words before him meant.

The Gossamer Hotel.

No Vacancies.

Completely Gratuitous Epilogue (or "Where Agent Pendrell Went When He Disappeared")

"Pendrell!" called out the uniformed guard of the Gossamer Asylum.

With head bowed, the red-haired lab tech shuffled up to her. "Yes?" It was framed as a question, but he knew what was coming. An author was requesting his character and not just any author. It was *that* author again. The one that wouldn't let him rest in peace. He sighed loudly and resigned himself to his fate.

"You're in luck, Pendrell. A new author has requested you today," said the guard.

Pendrell's head snapped up. "Really?" he asked happily, sudden visions of actual characterization running through his brain. "Who?"

The guard sniffed and handed him a sheet. "DarkBrat."

Pendrell blinked. "DarkBrat? I've never heard of her."

The guard handed him a large portfolio. "Well, you have now. Here. Here's your ID tag, accessory list and a sample of her writing to familiarize you with her work."

"Thanks," said Pendrell, taking the sheets and carefully examining the writing sample. "Hmmm. Let's see."

Pendrell began to read aloud. "...Mulder took no notice, but ran a careful hand down the top of Krycek's thigh. He flicked at hairs and then began to rub, gently massaging the tense muscle....OH, DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN!!!!!"

"Ralph!" called out the guard to another standing in the back."Escort Mr. Pendrell here to his destination and be sure you tell Mr. Krycek not to forget his prothesis today. Remind him of the time we had to improvise and tie that toilet plunger to his stump."

"HOLY MARY, MOTHER OF GOD!!!!" screamed Pendrell, as Ralph came over and grabbed his arm none too gently.

"Come on, LabBoy...this is a first time for you I see," said Ralph in a bored voice, dragging Pendrell down to the dark back halls of the asylum. "Don't worry, Krycek's an old pro. And, if you're lucky, he might have *two* arms this time..."


And as they struggled down the dark hallway together with Pendrell's screams fading into incoherent howls, soon all that could be heard were the pitiful groans of the abused, the misused and the unrecognizable in the confines of the darkened asylum.

The End. (or is it?)

Comment are welcome. dbkate@yahoo.com

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