I like this idea so much, it may have been a little too fun. I hope you enjoy it too!

Summary: Revolves around a strange disruption in the human race, causing everyone to become part animal. Follows McGee as he and the team attempt to continue their jobs in a strange world- but it seems normal is just something that doesn't work with NCIS, or McGee.

Rating: T for language and violence

Pairings: So far, none. But I'll take suggestions for who McGee and the rest of the cast should end up with ;3

Regular text.

"Speaking."

Thinking.

(Author's notes within story.)

The Dangerous Paths of Mice and Men

Chapter One: Growing Pains

Timothy rolled over in his sleep, groaning as the sheets twisted up his legs. Unbeknownst to him, his dog Jethro sat beside the bed, a worried whine pealing from him. The young agent tossed and turned, pained sounds growing in his throat, and Jethro's concerned whimper went from a whine to a bark. Timothy's face was contorted in pain, and he clutched the covers in his fists.

In his dream, Timothy was in a pool, naked, but the pool wasn't filled with water- It was filled with hot tar. His skin burned at the substance's searing temperature, and his eyes, throat and ears stung from the fumes. It was horrible, and for the life of him, the more he struggled, the harder it became to keep his head above the surface. Before he knew it, he was being sucked under, thrashing and crying out for help.

"Boss! Ziva! Abby!" Timothy felt a bizarre compulsion to be near his team. They always helped him, and he would always help them if they needed it. He even swallowed his pride and shouted, "Tony!?" The scent of the tar and a million other terrible things- rotting bodies from crime scenes flashed in his mind's eye- permeated his nose despite the lack of air. He gasped but tar rushed in, burning the sensitive flesh of his mouth. Its merciless touch scalded him, and he realized that this couldn't be tar. It was pure evil, dragging him down.

For some reason, he felt annoyed at this.

Don't be such a wimp, Timmy, he thought to himself, gritting his teeth as he hung suspended in the terrible, burning abyss. This isn't tar, and it can't kill me. I will not give up to this- this nothingness! Tony would never get off my case if I got beat up by a freakin' shadow. He clawed up and, with surprising ease caused by this revelation, or perhaps by his new vindication, burst to the surface. Grinning, Timothy climbed up onto soft, solid ground, completely unscathed, save for one black smudge of what seemed to be tar on his forehead.

For some reason, even with the familiar blankets wrapped around him and the sound and smell of Jethro nearby, he was sure he was still dreaming. Or maybe he was on some hallucinogenic drug. Either way, his dark bedroom wasn't dark, his tired body wasn't tired, and he could tell exactly where he had been in the past four days- entirely from the scents in his dirty clothes basket. He smiled, enjoying the strange, enriched sensory state he was in and wondered where this dream would take him.

He climbed out of bed and realized with a stomach-churning jolt that he was not dreaming. His thoughts were clear and gathered, and the typical dream mindset, incapable of a continuous train of thought, did not distract him by sending his thoughts down a series of hazy, unrelated tangents. He shivered at a sudden unnerved feeling and his ear twitched. What's wrong with me? he thought then once again stopped dead. His ear twitched?

Ears don't twitch, he thought in a panic and dove for the bathroom. Humans can't see in the dark, and they certainly can't smell sea salt and motor oil from a shipyard they went to half a week ago. Before he even flipped the light on, Timothy stared in shock at the person in the mirror, perfectly illuminated in the darkness, if that's what one could call it.

"Oh, my god," he murmured to himself and touched the strange appendages on either side of his head. "I'm part... something!" The snowy white, pointed ears seemed cat-like to him, but there was an array of animals in the kingdom that had pointed ears. Dogs? Bats? Tigers? In a moment of stunned hysteria, the idea distantly appealed to him. Tiger, he thought with a short, slightly crazed laugh, imagining himself roaring like a big cat. Then he realized a new sensation that made just him slump in resigned annoyance.

"A tail? For the love of god, I'll never be able to show my face again! Maybe if I find a really good plastic surgeon, or... " Even before the end of the sentence could leave his lips, Timothy felt an unpleasant stirring at the idea.

It was a Gibbs-esque hunch, but his gut said that it would be a bad idea to surgically remove the offending parts. It would be like lopping off a hand or poking out an eye. He did not like it, but he knew that this was a deep part of him. A part of him that, now that it was one with him, could not be undone or detached.

Timothy glared at the perfectly balanced person in the mirror and murmured, "Now what?"

So there you go. Four reviews, and I update, hands down. Take it or leave it! Uh, I mean, pwetty pwease, oh glorious and merciful reviewers? ... What, too much? Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, this should be fun! Please review so I'll keep writing! It's so entertaining, for the both of us you see!