It Bites, Part 1

Fandom: Supernatural

Category/Rated: PG-13 with a squick factor you might want to consider, if you don't like rats.

Year/Length: 2006/~2539 words

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.

Summary: Someone is using rats in their robberies. Sam and Dean investigate.

Author's Notes: This was supposed to be a one shot, but it's developed a plot, and there will be more than one part. It's been undertaken for scribblinlenore's birthday, and is based on her song #69 - The Pied Piper.

Beta: Thank you to ailurophile6 for her stellar beta.

"Rats? What do you mean, rats?" Dean was trying unsuccessfully to continue sleeping, despite Sam's dogged attempts to carry on a conversation with him, and he hadn't really taken in too much of Sam's earlier monologue.

"Rats – you know, your favorite furry friends." Sam rose to his feet and stretched, revealing what seemed to be acres of toned stomach as his T-shirt parted company with his jeans. "This place seems to have a plague of them, and somehow they tie in with a series of robberies."

"Robberies?" Dean abandoned his attempts to recapture his dream and pushed himself drowsily up to lean against the headboard. "You mean that they're breaking into Krispy Kremes all over America and…"

"I told you this once already." Sam glowered, his expression going from zero to 'long suffering brother #2' without apparent effort.

"Yeah, well you come between a man and his beauty sleep, and you face the consequences, dude." Dean rubbed the sleep from his eyes and threw back the bedclothes, swinging one leg over the edge of the bed. "So go on. I'm all ears now."

"Yeah, I see that, Dumbo!" Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and turned back to the computer. "There have been three robberies in the past couple of weeks, and in each case the property owner was found dead while money and antiques were stolen. What makes the break-ins of interest is the fact that the dead bodies were apparently bitten many times, and dead rats were found on the premises, as if the dead person was battling with rats and lost."

"God, Sammy, do we have to? That's gross." Dean recoiled, his face creased into an expression of distaste. "I hate rats; you know that."

"Yeah, I know, but it's odd, you've got to admit that. I think we should go have a look, because there isn't anything else particularly interesting happening. It'll probably turn out to be nothing anyway."

"Well, all right." Dean assumed his most fearless expression as he finally stumbled out of bed and headed towards the bathroom. "I guess there's no harm in going to scope it out. I just don't want anything to do with any rats. You can wrangle 'em, if wrangling is needed." He reached the bathroom door and then turned back to his brother. "So where is this happening?"

"Katy, Texas," murmured Sam, already turning back to his computer.

"Jeez! Sounds like a third rate stripper – forty six inch rack and a tattoo of the oilfields on her ass."

Sam didn't reply, and Dean gave a snort of laughter as he disappeared into the bathroom to prepare for the day.

The Katy Super 8 was almost full, but finally a room was found and Dean swung the car around to park in front of their newly acquired room. They bickered amiably as they went through their usual routine, transferring their meager belongings to the room and getting themselves set up ready to start their investigation.

"We should maybe hit the bar, see if there's anyone talking about the rats," said Dean, raising his brows at Sam as he indicated a brightly lit bar across the highway from the motel.

"Yeah, really..." Sam shot Dean a look that was nothing if not skeptical. "You think that there'll be more information there than in the library?"

"Got to talk to the people, little bro!" Dean smiled blandly and tapped his forehead. "Liquor loosens tongues, you know."

"Yeah, okay then, The library'll be closing in a half hour anyway." Sam gave up the battle, knowing that he had no chance of winning it, and preferring to save his energy for the following day when they would definitely be hitting the library. "Maybe they serve food over there that isn't just the burger 'n fries variety."

"Nothing wrong with burgers and fries." Dean's grin widened at Sam's eye roll. "You need some meat on your bones; look at you! Grease toughens a man up, makes him hard all the way through."

"Yeah – especially the arteries." Sam had been through countless conversations like this and knew the form. "You need to take better care of yourself. You aren't getting any younger."

"I can still give you a good beating." Dean held the door open for Sam, and then pulled it closed. "Guns, knives, fists… pick one."

"Dream on, lardass!" Sam brought his hand down sharply on Dean's denim clad behind as he spoke, laughing softly at the sharp crack as his palm connected with the faded fabric. "I can take you."

Dean's answering laugh contained just enough derision to be thoroughly offensive, but he didn't attempt to smack Sam back, merely leading the way across the highway to where the brightly lit sign glowed invitingly in the gathering dusk.

"Told you, Sammy!" Dean executed a neat dance step as they made for their room once more. It was much later, and the two men had enjoyed a meal and several beers before venturing back outside. Dusk had long since faded to night, and a hunter's moon floated high above them, bathing the world in cold, white light. "The bar's the place to be when you want information."

"Yeah, okay." There had been some very interesting information flying about, Sam had to acknowledge that. He was mentally sifting through what they'd learned as they walked, brain turning facts and conjecture this way and that in an effort to piece things together. "I think that tomorrow we need to go see the guy that owns the pet shop. Everyone seemed to think that he would know something about the rat thing, but I'm not sure. Some of that seemed like a convenient excuse to hang a personal grievance on things to me."

"Well, I guess we'll find out tomorrow, won't we?"

"Guess so." Sam smiled, watching Dean getting ready for bed. First, the enormous knife went under the pillow, then the gun went on the nightstand. Finally, the salt was poured on the threshold and the window sills, locking them up tight against whatever evil might lurk outside.

Dean himself had taken off his shirt and boots and was heading for the bathroom. Sam watched him go, his glance burning holes in his brother's smooth hide as he made his way out to wash up. Sighing once Dean had closed the door behind himself, he pondered the folly of wanting to run his hands over that tender skin and tried for yet another futile moment to ignore the pangs of desire that constantly threatened to disrupt the delicate balance he and Dean had achieved since he'd left Stanford.

The following day dawned hot and sticky. Sam had a headache that threatened to become a migraine, and he wondered if that meant that he would start with the precognitive flashes that usually heralded the presence of the demon. They readied themselves in silence and set off to talk to the pet store owner they'd heard about the night before in the bar.

The store, when they arrived, appeared to be unattended. They pushed open the door and entered to the sound of a bell, but looking around could see nobody. There were a number of cages containing small animals, puppies, kittens and a couple of rabbits, and towards the back of the store a large macaw sat on a perch, busily preening itself.

"Hello?" Dean was looking around, peering into the cages, checking out the recesses at the rear of the store while Sam lounged against the counter and attempted to engage the macaw in conversation. The elderly man who suddenly appeared behind Dean made him jump. "May I help you?" he asked, rubbing his hands together.

"Yeah, I'm Steve Harris, and this is my associate, Paul Day. We're from the Parks Department, lookin' for information about rats," said Dean, extending an identity card to the man. "People are getting scared that there might be some kind of plague in this town. We figured that with all the pet food in this place you might have a rat problem."

Listening to his brother, Sam wondered if the blunt strategy would work, and jumped a little at the sudden flare of hostility in the man's eyes. A moment later, the proprietor was assuring them that he had no problem with rats – no problem at all, and the anger he'd seen blazing so recently was now disguised, masked with an unctuous smile and a soft voice.

"There are always rats in the sewers," said the man, smiling without humor. "We could certainly catch you some, if you wanted."

"Uh… no! No thank you! That's all right." Dean was backing away with his hand raised, and Sam grinned. There were two things calculated to weird his brother out. One was flying, and the other was rats.

Leaving the store, Sam nudged Dean. "What do you think?" he asked. "He's hiding something. I didn't like him; he seemed all kinds of creepy to me."

"He appeared out of nowhere," said Dean. "That was really weird. It was like he just materialized or something. I think we pay the store a little visit after closing time, don't you?"

"Works for me." Sam was already planning how to break in. "Maybe we should go take a look around the back to get an idea of what obstacles we might encounter."

"Good call." Together, they headed along the street, searching for the fire lane that would give them access to the back of the store. They were almost to the end of the block when Dean suddenly stopped. "Carry on. I'll catch up with you," he murmured, heading into the convenience store that stood at the corner.

"More Ho Hos?" muttered Sam.

"M&M's, actually, Sammy, but close." Dean's grin was a calculated insult, and Sam shook his head at him, rolling his eyes before turning the corner to slink down the fire lane.

The rear of the pet store was easy to spot. There was a stack of containers with Iams stamped on the side; Sam approached and peered into the window beside the old wooden door, only to look into a storeroom full of dusty old boxes. He was about to move away, when he noticed a rat running along one of the shelves, and following that, another peering at him through the dirty glass, and a third….

"Check it out, dude," he muttered, reaching for his lock pick. A moment later, he was inside the store room, listening to the chitterings and squeakings of a thousand rodents.

There was a trap door leading to a cellar standing open in the far recesses of the store room, and through the gaping hole could be seen a carpet of restlessly moving brown bodies. Sam realized the magnitude of the mistake he'd made when the door through which he'd entered was suddenly slammed shut by an invisible hand, and rats began pouring out of the trap. For a moment, Sam stood, frozen to the ground, and then he backed up pulling at the door in an effort to get out.

A bite on his ankle made him curse, and another midway up his calf started him worrying, remembering the reports he'd read out to Dean the day before. He was suddenly very aware that his life was in danger.

He turned to the window, thinking to smash it and escape, but it appeared to be security glass, and his fist bounced off it, harmlessly.

"Jesus!" There were rats swarming over him now – furry, seething piles of them covering most of his lower legs, and their little teeth had drawn blood in more than just a couple of places.

Sam hoped that Dean would come soon, cursed his brother's need for candy, and entirely missed the thought that if the two of them had been together, they would now both be trapped.

He climbed onto a shelf, shaking rats loose and stomping some of them under his feet. Peering through the window, he watched for his brother, smacking at the rodents that were clinging to his jeans, and setting off a barrage of squeaks and snarls.

When Dean finally hove into view, sauntering along as he munched his candies, Sam was beside himself.

"Fuck you!" He banged on the window, splitting his knuckles in his efforts to get Dean to notice him. A rat had managed to crawl up the leg of his jeans, and he pounded on his thigh in an effort to stop the creature from reaching his groin.

When Dean finally noticed his predicament, it was almost funny. The double take he did as he spotted Sam's anguished face was comical in its astonishment. Gesturing wildly, Sam indicated that he was trapped, waving a dead rat to illustrate his distress. Dean's face altered at that, and he dropped his candy, running to the door to try and open it. The door had somehow become locked again, and Dean dropped out of sight as he knelt to pick it.

When the door was finally wrenched open, Sam jumped down from his perch, and staggered to the door, the furry bodies crunching under his feet. As Sam burst out of the room, the rats clung to his clothing, poured out into the alley way and surged towards Dean, who took one look and turned pale.

"Run!" Free at last, Sam lost no time starting to run, grabbing Dean's arm as he passed and towing him along too. "I don't know why, but they're all there, in the cellar," he gasped as they ran, slowly outdistancing the furry tide. As they reached the Impala, Dean reached to wrench a particularly adventurous rodent from its perch in the small of Sam's back.

"Damn!" Sam was covered in a hundred little bites, his clothing ripped and bloodstained from his ordeal. He climbed into the car on shaky legs and sat, eyes closed, wondering what they'd encountered.

Back at the motel, Dean tended to Sam's wounds, dabbing each with disinfectant and giving him an anesthetic ointment that would ease the sting of the bites for a short while. As Sam lay on the bed, with Dean's hands steadily working their way down over his legs, Sam shuddered, shocked from the experience he'd been through.

"What do you suppose made them go after us like that?" Sam was wincing as Dean's deft fingers applied the ointment. "Jeeze. You've got to work on your bedside manor, dude; you're killing me."

"Boohoo, baby," smirked Dean, laying his hand on the small of Sam's back in a gesture of affection. "It doesn't really matter why they were chasing us. I think it's simple – we torch the place and there will be no more rats."

"You can't just do that!" Sam started up and turned to look at his brother, consternation on his features.

"Sure I can. Honestly, Sammy, it's the elegant solution. No rats, no problem." Dean tapped his forehead. "I hate the damned things. They're vermin."

There was little else that Sam could say right then. Frowning, he allowed his brother to finish up and then began to poke through his duffel for a new set of clothes to wear.

End of part 1

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